The Velvet Red
by Broadway
Summary: Jean, Rogue, Ororo, Betsy and eventually even Emma as... what! That's right folks, strippers. And not just any strippers. Strippers at the hottest, most elite club in NYC: The Velvet Red.
1. Default Chapter

The Velvet Red  
  
Rogue adjusted the skirt of her green dress. That morning, standing in front of her full-length mirror, she had opted for the green one that climbed up her slim legs than the modest, black knee-length skirt she had originally decided on. After all, this type of place called for extreme measures if she was going to get what she came for, and a knee-length anything was not extreme measures. The Velvet Red: it was a place people dreamed of working at. Standing in front of the New York hotspot towering directly in the center of the city, Rogue brought her hand up to tap hesitantly on the glass.   
  
A built man just shy of five foot four with coarse, black hair swung the door open and looked at her. "Hi!" She said brightly, flashing a sweet smile. "Ah'm looking for a Mister Warren Worthington. Is he in?"  
  
He stepped aside and opened the door wider, gesturing for her to come in and displaying the broad, white letters spelling 'Security' in stark contrast against the black of his tight tee shirt. It was only about four o' clock and the place wasn't open yet. The only people on the stage were men with brooms and the only ones on the floor were those who were setting down chairs from where they were propped on the table.   
  
The bouncer led Rogue up a flight of winding stairs behind the bar and to a closed door with the words 'Warren Worthington III' printed on the front of it.   
  
"Just knock, darlin'." The bouncer said before disappearing back down the stairs and leaving Rogue facing the door. She slowly brought her hand to it, readying herself to knock, but stopped.   
  
If she was going to do this, she was going to do this right.  
  
Rogue swallowed her fear in one large gulp and straightened her shoulders. She plastered on a confident air and knocked firmly on the door.  
  
"Come in." She heard a decently pleasant voice call from the other side. She opened the door and strutted into the office, stopping only to take an un-offered seat in the chair sitting before his desk.   
  
The man at the desk raised his head from the mass of documents on his desk in interest. Rogue took a sharp intake of air. He was beautiful. He had chiseled features, bronze at the tips, and long sandy waves sleeked back stylishly with gel. "Hello, can I help you?"  
  
"Hi," she said, immediately diving into her southern charm mode. "Mah name's Rogue; Ah was wondering if you were looking foh any help at this charming little spot."  
  
He tilted his head in mild fascination. She was gutsy and it was awfully cute. "Well, I suppose a man is always looking for good help. Do you have any experience?"   
  
She nodded. "Oh yes, suh. Ah've been a waitress for nearly eight years heuh and there and Ah was captain of the school dance team for six years." She finished enthusiastically, adding a smile for good measure. He leaned back in his seat.  
  
"Hmm, I see. Sounds like we could really use you here at The Velvet Red. Stand up for a second. Let me take a look at you."  
  
Rogue stood, trying to look as comfortable as possible considering her heart pumped grapefruits under the bodice of her dress. She twirled once and he nodded approvingly at her slender, graceful body. He particularly liked the shock of white through her auburn mane. "Alright, you've got it." She sighed, her whole body visibly draining tension. " You start tonight. Be here at seven o clock sharp. Go downstairs and you'll see a door directly to your left, it'll say 'Dress.' When you get here you're going to go in and ask for Jean, she'll get you started."   
  
Rogue thanked him and turned to leave, walking satisfied out the door.  
  
**  
  
"Whew girls! They're rowdy tonight!" Elisabeth Braddock stepped into the dressing room and threw her cashmere coat on the couch with a dramatic sweep of the hand before plopping down on it herself.  
  
Jean turned from where she sat applying pearl eye shadow at her dressing table to smile at Betsy. Ororo Munroe stepped through the beaded curtain separating the large dressing closet from the rest of the prep area. She was clad in a red sequenced bodysuit that was halter-topped and stopped at her high thigh, clinging to her like a second skin. It complemented her mocha skin and platinum hair beautifully.   
  
Betsy groaned. "Don't tell me that's our new waitress uniforms!"  
  
Ororo spun around to display it to the two other women. "Cute, huh?" She remarked dryly.   
  
Their complaining came to a halt when their door opened and a twenty-something woman stepped through. She timidly made her way to the center of the room, all eyes on her.   
  
"Can I help you, sweetheart?" Jean asked.  
  
"I'm looking for Jean." She explained, wringing her hands nervously.  
  
"Oh! Well you've found me. You must be the new girl Warren was telling me about. I'm sorry; come on in; drop your stuff. Let's get you suited." She led Rogue through the beaded doorway.  
  
Twenty minutes later, Rogue was dressed in something she thought could quite possibly be illegal in at least nine states. "Don't worry," Ororo said once Rogue re-appeared from the dressing closet. "I'm wearing one just like it, see?"  
  
Betsy, now sporting a leopard print bikini of sorts, turned from curling her sleek, onyx strands. "Yea, it's not so bad when there's someone suffering with you." She smiled good-humoredly, and Rogue decided working here wouldn't be too bad after all. At first, she had had apprehensions about working at a strip club, even if it was The Velvet Red. God, The Velvet Red: the hottest joint in all New York. It was hip, classy, and most importantly, expensive. Cover charge was sixty bucks. This is where the billionaire's that owned the world from their skyscraper offices came to cut loose. Only a selective few made it past the bouncer, whom Rogue had discovered to be a man named Logan. So many of her friends at the café dreamed about working at this place, but those girls didn't have boyfriends like Remy.   
  
Rogue could already tell she would like the people, though. Jean, Ororo, and Betsy were nothing but nice to her, showing her the ropes and filling her in on who and what to stay away from.  
  
"How come you aren't wearing this getup, Betsy?" Rogue asked the beautiful Asian. "Or you either, Jean?"   
  
Jean slipped on a pleated skirt and white button-up, buttoning the garment only halfway to expose her lacy black bra. "Were not on floor tonight. See, two of us will do floor one night, which means waitressing and therefore wearing that little number YOU have on, while the other two does stage- the stripping. Tonight Betts and I do stage. We put you on floor with 'Ro because you already know how to waitress, right?"  
  
Rogue nodded, absorbing all the information in awe. Jean winked at her. "Don't worry about it. Just stick with us, and you'll do fine. Watch us tonight, and maybe tomorrow you can take floor. "  
  
Betsy, standing from her make-up table, slapped her hands together and grinned. "And that's where the REAL money comes from, sweetie!"  
  
The four women laughed joyously as Betsy strutted playfully around the room like a tiger, emphasizing her ridiculous costume.  
  
"God, where does Warren get these things?" She said after they calmed down from their fit of giggles.   
  
"Warren." Rogue said suddenly. "He owns the place, right?"  
  
"Yes, that's right." Ororo replied, hoisting her tray of cigars and wrapping the strap around her neck.  
  
Jean brushed her own mane of curls and caught Rogue's eye in the mirror. "He'll treat you right, just stay out of his way."  
  
The other two nodded in agreement. "But enough about Mister Playboy, is there a man in your life, girlfriend?" Betsy asked, sitting Rogue down to apply her make-up.   
  
The southerner closed her eyes as eyeliner was skimmed across her eyelids. "Yes, actually." The women oohed and awed.   
  
"Do tell!" Jean said as Ororo fastened her scarlet tresses in a twist behind her head.  
  
"Let's see," Rogue began, smiling at the thought of him. "His name is Remy. He's French, well, Cajun. When I moved up heuh about eight months ago from Mississippi, he seemed like the only other person that understood me, being from the south himself and all. Simply, he is the most wonderful man Ah know." She blushed briefly. "Ah know that sounds corny, but he really is. What else can Ah say?"  
  
"Hmm, and does this amazing-"  
  
"No, Jean. Not amazing, I believe the word was wonderful."   
  
"Ah yes. Thank you Elisabeth, I knew you were good for something." Betsy tossed a top hat from the accessory rack to the redhead in playful offense, which she easily deflected. "Does this WONDERFUL Remy know what you do for a living now?"  
  
Rogue nodded. "Yep, because currently Ah am also employed at the Candle Café. He needn't know of my night-job though." She finished with a tight smile. "It works perfectly, too. The cafe doesn't close until three a.m. so I'll always have a reason for coming home late."  
  
Ororo shook her head. "You've really put some thought into this, haven't you?"  
  
Rogue looked away sheepishly. "Nothing more to say: Ah need the money this place has to offer. Ah'm just barely scraping by on my paycheck as a waitress at the café and our rent alone is enough to put me on the streets."  
  
"Doesn't the all wonderful Remy help out?" Betsy asked from the doorway, her theme music slowly beginning. It sounded like something from an old, cheesy Tarzan clip.   
  
"Oh Gawd yes he does! That's the problem. I don't want to have to rely on him anymore. When I moved to New York Ah wanted to make it on my own, not because my boyfriend is a producer for the record label Columbia. Ah want to be able to pay half the rent."  
  
Betsy scoffed. "As far as I'm concerned, he can take care of me if he wants!" And with that, she disappeared through the door to the stage.  
  
"Go get 'em, Wild Thing!" Jean called after her, laughing at Betsy's prompt return with 'shut-up.'  
  
Soon after, Ororo and Rogue bid Jean farewell and exited through the other door leading to the floor. "Good luck, kid." Jean flashed a dazzling smile that made Rogue suddenly feel very novice. She had a lot to learn from these women; they were pros.  
  
As she stepped into the crowded, smoky room filled with tasteful dressers and men that actually knew how to sip brandy, and then saw Betsy doing her thing on the stage, Rogue took a deep, lingering breath. She was ready.   
  
Bring on The Velvet Red.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
To Be Continued  
  
**Disclaimer: It all belongs to Marvel.   
  
** Just wait. It gets good! I promise! And trust me, though it IS a strip club, I'll do it tastefully.   
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Recurring Costumers

  
NOTES: I promise to do it tastefully. Each woman will have her own thing going on in this; I'm going all out here, friends!  
  
  
  
The Velvet Red  
  
  
Scott Summers was not a dirty man by nature. He was a law-abiding citizen, he paid his taxes, and he had an excellent job at Xavier Industries. So why did he let his two associates from the office talk him into tagging along to The Velvet Red? It wasn't that Scott didn't enjoy club hopping. He was young, attractive, and had been known to swoon the occasional blonde or brunette. It was just that this particular 'hotspot' happened to be a strip club, albeit a popular, even tasteful one, but the idea of being seen at one, even if it HAD been by his own boss Charles himself, did not sit well with him.   
  
"C'mon, Scott!" Bobby had said. "It'll do you some good to loosen up, buddy! Company's treat, too! Not too often THAT happens."  
  
"Yeah," Hank chimed. "One night isn't going to kill you."  
  
And so, Scott had agreed. He had to admit, the place was genuinely nice. The floors were covered wall to wall with imported Persian rug and the bar served nothing but the best Scotch, Brandy, and everyone's personal best friend: Jack Danny. Not a cheap beer to be found. Gambling tables were established, too, so the customers could play a few hands at poker or black jack while they waited for the entertainment. Scott suspected that something other than poker chips were being slipped under the table, but he didn't bother to pry. Let the rich blow their money on any way the so chose. And the women! Scott had never seen so many beautiful women in his entire life, and certainly never wearing THOSE outfits.   
  
By the end of the night, the usually grounded, sensible Scott Summers had lost nearly a grand at the poker tables and probably as much to the strippers. But, as one a.m. approached, he forced himself to wrap things up and start thinking about heading home. The women on the stage had made him a little more than willing for company though, so he casually scoped the place out for any likely candidates.   
  
At the bar was where he first saw her, and even then Scott knew he would remember the exact second for years to come. Everything around him sped up except for her- every fluid movement she made: the flip of her red hair, the shifting of her weight as she leaned against the bar, the polite smile she produced for those passing by that she obviously knew. Scott approached her, sliding onto the stool directly to her right and throwing her an easy smile.   
  
"Hey, don't I know you?" He asked, turning fully toward her. "I think we went to the same grade school."  
  
She suppressed a smile. "No, I doubt it."  
  
He grinned, absently moving his gin glass in a circular motion. "Only in my dreams, right?"  
  
She tipped her head back and chuckled, the bar lights kissing her cheekbones and the bridge of her nose. She turned back to him. "Jean," she stated simply.  
  
"Scott," he responded.  
  
They chatted amicably a while longer: her about cheesy pick-up lines and how he desperately needed to work on them, and he sheepishly admitting to her facts. Scott also discovered that she was a very educated woman having studied dancing at Julliard. Approximately ten minutes into their conversation, Bobby and Hank interrupted, Bobby's arm slung over his companion's shoulder as the bigger man supported his weight.  
  
"Scottie, it looks as if Robert and I are going to have to call it a night."  
  
"Aw, really?" Scott tipped his head in mock sympathy at his blonde friend leaning heavily on Hank.   
  
"Yes. It appears Mr. Drake here cannot consume large quantities of alcohol without his immune system failing him miserably."  
  
"Aw, poor guy. He can't hold his lacquer." Jean sympathized.   
  
"Yes, well, we're heading out. You coming?"  
  
Scott glanced over to Jean and said, "No, I'm good, Hank. I'll grab a cab."  
  
"I'll stop this, now. I'm not going to be coming home with you tonight, Scott." She stated plainly after the two had left. He shrugged.  
  
"Hey, who said anything about going home with me? I have no idea what you're talking about and I sincerely hope you're not implying anything!" He said, clutching his chest in shock. "I feel a bit violated!"  
  
She giggled, her cheeks flushing an alluring shade of rose. "No, nothing like that. Don't worry, I won't try anything funny." She teased. "Actually, believe it or not, I don't think you'd be very happy with a woman like me."  
  
He nodded. "You couldn't be more right. My mother always said, 'Scott, beware of those beautiful, intelligent women. They're no good.'"   
  
Jean smiled and turned away. "No, but she did tell you that not everything is as it seems sometimes, right?"  
  
"Yes, but I've also been told to sometimes not read into things too deeply."  
  
She pointed an accusing finger at him. "Aha! So the truth comes out. You had no more intention than to simply take me home and have your wicked way with me for the night, huh? Why else would you not care to 'read too deeply' into me?"  
  
He smiled. "No, you've got me all wrong." He paused. "Really."  
  
"Hey Jeannie! You riding home with me and 'Ro or what?" Betsy called from the dressing room door. Scott noticed the woman as the stripper that gave him a lap dance not two hours ago. One and one quickly made two in Scott's mind.  
  
"Nah, Betts. I'll catch a ride with Warren."  
  
"Okay girl. 'Night!"  
  
Jean stood and made her way behind the bar. "You still want to get to know the 'real me' or have you learned enough?" She reached the bottom of the winding stairs leading to Warren's office.   
  
Scott shook his head. "No, not even close."   
  
She rolled her eyes in mild disbelief. He was persistent; she'd give him that. "Nuh-uh, Summers. I'm not exactly the girl you can bring home to Mom."  
  
He shrugged. "My mom's dead."  
  
She sighed and continued up the stairs. "Good night."  
  
Scott pounded on the bar twice before turning to leave. He spun around momentarily to point a finger at her still visible feet from the top of the stairs and called after her, "And I'll see YOU tomorrow night!"  
  
Jean bit back a chuckle. "Yeah okay."  
  
**  
  
The next night, true to his word, Scott made an appearance.   
  
"I can't come here every night, you know?" Scott said as Jean set down his Scotch and soda in front of him. Lucky her, she was stuck waitressing that night. "I will come as often as I can, though, until you agree to just one date with me."  
  
Jean sighed, clutching her tray against her flat stomach. "What is with you? You come, you see me prance around in these little numbers," she extended her arms to display the now-custom waitress uniform, "and I even strip. Isn't that enough for you? I thought I made it clear to you that I'm not sleeping with you, so except it pal. This is as close as you're getting."   
  
Scott straightened and his tone got serious. "Maybe getting in your pants isn't all I think about. Maybe I just want to talk a little."  
  
"Get to know the person," Jean offered almost bitterly.  
  
"Yes."   
  
"Do you honestly think any woman hasn't heard that one before, Scott?"  
  
"I'm not really interested in lines you've heard before, Jean. I'm interested in you and it truly doesn't bother me that you're a stripper." He sipped his drink. "And a word to the wise, not every man thinks about getting you in bed."  
  
Jean opened her mouth to retort but closed it just as quickly. Suddenly, she felt a great swell of guilt for the way she had treated Scott. Working at a strip club, no matter how elite, she had forgotten that there were still nice guys in the world that really did care what your name was, what music you listened to, your favorite foods, what color your eyes were. What right did she have to stomp all over Scott like that just for taking an interest? If anything, it meant she still had it!  
  
But as much as she longed to accept Scott's tempting proposition, she couldn't. "I'm sorry, Scott. You're right, I was way out of line, but I can't go out with you. It just wouldn't work out right." With that, she quickly turned and left the bar, leaving a bemused Scott to ponder over his drink. When Jean asked Ororo to tend to him for the rest of the night, he paid his bill and left, but not before brushing past her on his way out.  
  
"Until next time." She heard him mumble, and then he was out the door.  
  
  
  
Rogue shuffled out of her cowboy ensemble and threw on her more comfortable cut-offs and Southern Star tank. Jean walked into the dressing room and behind the beaded curtain for her own clothes.   
  
"Hey, kid. You want a ride home?" She could hear Jean say inside the dressing closet.   
  
Rogue nodded as Jean reappeared in her own Levis and Fleetwood Mac tank. "Yeah okay, if it's not too much trouble, hun."  
  
They piled into Jean's Benz waiting patiently in the parking lot.  
  
"Oh my Gawd!" Rogue exclaimed, settling comfortably into the leather seats. "This car is...wow!"  
  
Jean pulled expertly out of the parking space and sped dangerously down the avenue to Rogue's apartment. "I like it. The environment may not be a 100% healthy at the club, but the money is good, that's for damn sure."  
  
Rogue stuck her hands out of the sunroof and reveled in the wind, her hair being whipped in every direction. "Yea, about the club: How do yah get the men to stop grabbing at you all the time?" She paused and thought of how to reword her question, trying not be as naïve as she just made herself sound. "Ah mean, isn't it against the rules to touch us?"  
  
Jean nodded an enthusiastic affirmative. "Definitely. They're just picking on you because most of them are recurring costumers and they know you're new. Next time one of them grabs your ass or whatever, just turn around and politely but sternly let them know that the rule is 'No Petting.' And if that doesn't work, you can get either me or one of the other girls, but your best bet would be Logan. He'll take care of them."  
  
Rogue smiled. "Alraght. And what about Warren? Should I let him know?"  
  
Jean's smile faded at the mention of Warren. She knew full well that if the men were willing to pay, Warren wouldn't do a damned thing about it, do what they will. "No, honey. You should probably just sick to Logan. You'll never have a problem with them again if HE finds out about it."  
  
The two drove on a little while longer, Jean opting to take the long way so they could cruise a bit in the brand new car. Rogue had no objections. It was nearing two a.m. when they finally pulled up to her apartment building.  
  
"Here you are," Jean said, slowing down.  
  
"Thanks, sugah. Hey, can Ah leave my bag in heuh tonight and pick it up tomorrow? Remy maght be home and Ah don't want to be caught with it."  
  
"Might? What do you mean might be home, it's almost two."  
  
"Ah know but his job at Columbia Records keeps him out until the ungawdliest hours. So Ah'll pick it up tomorrow?"  
  
"Yeah, yeah. When are you going to tell him about all this, Rogue? He'll only be madder when he finds out."  
  
Rogue got out of the car and leaned into the open window. "Yeah, Ah know. You're starting to sound like 'Ro. Ah'll tell him when the time is raght. The opportunity just hasn't-"  
  
"Presented itself," Jean finished for her. "I've heard them all, hun. Hell, all us strippers have said them all at one point!" She started the engine. "Good night, kid."  
  
"Naght," Rogue replied, and Jean sped off.  
  
**  
  
Remy LeBeau had gotten home early that night, around eleven. Both he and his steady girlfriend of almost a year had crazy work hours, especially him. So arriving home past two a.m., especially when a track was being recorded in the studio, wasn't exactly unusual for him. But, Remy called the Candle Café where Rogue worked and asked when her hours ended that night. Coincidentally enough, she too was getting off early, at about eleven thirty, so he raced home to get there before her and prepare a nice gourmet dinner on the floor next to their fireplace and even a candlelit bubble bath. By eleven thirty, it was all set up, and all Remy had to do was pop a soft jazz C.D. into the stereo, situate himself onto the couch, and wait. She'd be home any minute.  
  
Midnight rolled around; Remy shrugged it off as getting a little caught up at work, even if the bath and dinner were getting cold. Twelve forty-five rolled around; Remy dozed on and off through his growing annoyance. The C.D. had long stopped and the apartment was swallowed by an aggravating silence. One thirty rolled around and Remy was beginning to worry. At two, he had thrown on a jacket and shoes and was just on his way out the door when who should walk through it first?  
  
"Rogue." He stood watching her startled expression. "Where de hell have you been?"  
  
His even tone and contained anger put Rogue on edge. She didn't even catch the hint of relief seeping through his words that she wasn't lying face down in a gutter somewhere. "Remy, I...I'm sorry." She recovered quickly. "Remember how Ah was telling you that Jenny's daughter was having a baby soon? Well, right before Ah'm walking out the door, she gets a call, and what should happen but her daughter goes into labor? So of course, Lola didn't show up today for work and Ah had to be the one to cover the entiah place until she came strolling in around one thirty." Rogue took a deep breath after she had finished. "Ah would have called, but Jenny's brat son, Luke, was on the internet the entire tahm trying to buy concert tickets to some show, and he would not get off!" She paused, taking in Remy's overwhelmed expression. "So yah see..." Her voice trailed off and she decided to let Remy take the lead and hint to her as to whether or not he believed her.  
  
Remy walked up to her and encircled her with his strong arms. "Okay, chere. If you say so."  
  
Rogue sank into his embrace, relieved. She glanced around the room and noticed the stale dinner gleaming sickly in the firelight. "Ah'm sorry, sugah."  
  
"It's okay. If you can't leave, you can't leave." She smelt like smoke and Obsession cologne: a bit exotic for the Candle Café.  
  
Rogue felt entirely guilty for the full-blown lie she had just fed the man of her dreams. "Ah'm sorry Ah wasn't heuh for yoah big surprise, but maybe Ah can make it up to you, Cajun." She snaked her slim hands behind his head and stroked the fine hairs above the base of his neck.  
  
He grinned devilishly and dropped to kiss her fully on the mouth. It was a long embrace that lasted all the way to their bedroom door. Once inside, Rogue laid a very cooperative Remy down on the bed and slithered out of her shorts and shirt at a tantalizing pace, revealing to Remy her curvaceous form. She crawled on top of him and straddled his hips to kiss him again, her thick auburn waves falling all around him. His hungry mouth fervently kissed back.  
  
**  
  
The sun peeked shyly over the horizon as Remy reached for the receiver. He stole one more glance at Rogue to make sure she was still out. His sweet southern belle was laying between the frumpy white sheets, enwrapped in peaceful slumber. He dialed the numbers on his white portable and paced the kitchen until someone picked up. He didn't like talking to people from his life before what he called 'honest work,' but desperate times called for desperate measures, and he had to know.   
  
"Hello." Mumbled a voice laced half with fatigue and half with annoyance on the other line.  
  
"Pawn, dis is Remy."  
  
"Hey, Remy. Do you know what time it is, man?" He heard a feminine voice mutter something next to Pawn. Pawn told her to shut-up.  
  
"Yea, listen homme. I need you to do Remy a favor." Remy sat down at the kitchen table.  
  
"Shoot."  
  
"It's about Rogue. I need you to tail her for a day."  
  
Pawn chuckled. "What's the problem, Remy? She startin' to come home late?"  
  
"Don't worry about it, Pawn, and I don't want to have to say dat again." Remy's stern tone quickly shut Pawn's mouth. "Just find out where she goes at night, around ten. Can you do dat?"  
  
"Not a problem." The two men hung up. It was brief and to the point. No questions asked, no objections. That's the way it was with them, his old friends, men that would put a knife in someone, anyone, for a fellow thief. He had never told Rogue about it. How could he? Simply thinking of the consequences made him shudder, so he didn't risk it. Since the first time she set down his double latte on his table at the Candle Café on that fateful day, he vowed never to steal again. It was sudden, to say the least, but sincere. The last time he had even talked to any of his old 'associates' was when he needed some strings pulled to get himself the excellent job at Columbia. After that, he was a changed man, all for the sassy southerner in his bed.   
  
And now, she was quite possibly cheating on him. 'No,' Remy thought. 'She's not, it's all in your head.' Remy hated to say it, but the odds looked as if they were stacked against him. He hoped not, because if she had found comfort in another man's arms, Remy was quite sure he'd go insane.  
  
"Remy, sugah, come back to bed," he heard her call from the bedroom. Remy stood from his chair and did just that.  
  
  
** Okay, couple of things. Obviously, I don't own the people in this, Marvel does. Another thing: I don't own the Candle Café. It's a real place in NYC but it's definitely not mine.  
  
**And this is the second chapter. It gets better, just bare with me. Lots of drama! And of course, review. I'd be much obliged!  



	3. Revelations

The Velvet Red  
  
  
It took a couple of days, but Pawn came through for Remy. Remy, however, was none too pleased with the results of his old friend's stakeout. In fact, he only paid a visit to the club hoping to God that Pawn screwed up somewhere and was wrong about this. Dead wrong.  
  
And so, Remy sat at one of the various card tables, winning and losing few hands so as not to be too conspicuous. He was quiet for the most part, drawing no more attention to himself than need be by sipping his drink and taking slow drags from his cigarette. He was thankful Rogue was not the one handing him his whiskey sour or offering any of the men a cigar, but the dancing had not started up yet, and that's what Remy really worried about.  
  
**  
  
"Betsy, with or without the hat?" Rogue placed a hard-hat on her head and extended her hands to display her outfit.  
  
Elisabeth spun from her mirror and looked over the southerner's tool girl outfit with a deciding eye. "Hmm, with that tool belt, I think I'd go with the hat. Stick your hair under it and let it be the first thing you whip off; all your hair will go whishing around. The apes go crazy for that."  
  
Rogue smiled at Betsy's comment and began tucking her hair under. "The apes?"  
  
"Oh, yeah honey. They're so easy to please, what else can you compare them to?"  
  
Rogue threw on the white tank that exposed her belly. "Gee, I guess I never thought of it like that," she said in mock awe, placing a hand against her right cheek.  
  
"Hey, say what you will, but just ask Ororo or Jean. We know the truth! Every one of us that work here were selected for a certain style."  
  
"Style?"  
  
"Yep. Like you."  
  
Rogue gave Elisabeth a faintly amused look. "What about me?"  
  
"You, missy, are the southern comfort of the group. Kind of like the bucking bronco cowgirl, down home charm, catch my drift?"  
  
"Oh really?"  
  
"And Jean-she better-thank-her-lucky-stars-for-that-red-hair is the American sweetheart, girl next door. Half the men out there have dreamt about fucking the captain of the cheerleading squad. And 'Ro, she's this exotic, goddess type thing that every man has weird, sexual fantasies about. Sort of like that whole Princess Leia, slave bikini obsession."  
  
"And you?" Rogue asked, a smile curling at the tips of her crimson lips.   
  
Betsy stood from her seat and did a spectacular twirl in her Arabian princess costume, covering the lower half of her beautiful face with a piece of flame colored silk. "I play the trendy, easy, movie star type. I'm the woman that plays with whips and chains." She shot Rogue a wolfish grin and her violet eyes glimmered in the bright lights of the dressing room.  
  
Rogue laughed gleefully. "Thanks for the 411, Betts."  
  
"No problem. It's always good to know the scoop." The black-haired beauty said, opening a pill bottle and popping two tablets in her mouth.  
  
Rogue perked a russet eyebrow. "What are they, sugah?"  
  
"Jollies," Betsy noticed Rogue's bewildered expression covered by a quick nod of the head. "Speed; It helps me...let's just say it helps me get into the groove of things." Rogue's face quickly etched with concern. "Don't worry, I only take them when I absolutely need them."  
  
"Yeah okay. Just don't go doing anything stupid, heuh? I don't want to have to covah for yoah ass if anything happens to yah."  
  
Betsy chuckled. "Whatever you say, Dixie." She gave Rogue's butt a playful smack. "Now get out there and earn lots of money. My birthday's coming up. You have to start thinking about presents!"  
  
The last thing Rogue heard from Betsy before she headed on stage was her singing "Cuz it's all about the Benjamins baby," and then she took center stage.  
  
  
  
The lights dimmed in the club and some honky-tonk song began blaring through the speakers. Every man sat in silent attention, glaring hypnotically and excitedly at the stage as if they were caged animals waiting to be released. Remy took a deep breath and braced himself. 'Please, Jesus. Don't let it be so.'  
  
And out stepped Rogue, cut-offs, tool-belt, hardhat and all.  
  
**  
  
"Gawd, Ah am exhausted!" Rogue fell onto the dressing room couch and caught her breath later after the show. "It's been a long naght."  
  
Ororo nodded in agreement and folded several dollar bills, placing them securely in her bra. "Yes, it has. Are you ready?" She gathered her belongings and Rogue followed suit.  
  
"Mm-hmm," Rogue said wistfully, her soft eyelids drooping. "Where are the others?"  
  
"Jean's still on floor and Betsy is downing a few drinks with another rich boy-billionaire."  
  
"Oh, okay." Rogue hoisted herself off the couch and the two headed out of the dressing room, chatting amicably about Betsy's preference in men.   
  
"Ah know! She's real nice and everythang, but man does that girl love to-" She stopped dead at the sight of Remy leaning against the wall right outside the door. His cigarette sat casually between two fingertips, belying the anger boiling slowly and steadily within his gut. "Remy!" She gasped, coming to an abrupt halt.   
  
Ororo Munroe glanced from Remy to Rogue, then back at Remy. "Uh-oh," she mumbled. She gave Rogue a sympathetic, questioning look. "Should I stay?"  
  
"No, 'Ro. Ah'll be alraght."   
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
"Yes, yes I'm sure. Thanks." With that, Ororo left the couple to resolve their problems privately.  
  
Remy turned and walked out of the club, motioning for Rogue to follow him. She hesitated, but decided not to make him madder and trotted behind him. In the parking lot, he wordlessly opened his car door. "Wait, Remy," Rogue said from her side of the car, speaking to him over the car roof. "Say something, sugah."  
  
Remy clenched his jaw and bore his red on black eyes into her. "What do you want me to say, Rogue? I saw everyt'ing! Can you imagine watching every guy in de room get hard 'cause your girlfriend is strutting around in some barely dere outfit, showing dem stuff dat only I need to be seeing!?" He was yelling, now. "When were you-" he lowered his voice as a group of young, drunk frat boys made their way to their car and sped off. "When were you planning on telling me? Ever?" His voice was lower this time, but still venomous.  
  
Rogue's liquid green eyes welled up as she responded, "Yes, Remy. Ah was. It's just-"  
  
"And de ot'er night! Dat was real cute! How long did it take you to t'ink of DAT one?!"  
  
"Ah'm sorry. Ah'm so sorry, Remy. You're right, Ah should have told you, but let me explain."   
  
He shook his head vigorously. "No, Rogue. I want answers to MY questions now." He slammed the palm of his hand on the car and she jumped, startled.  
  
"What do you want to know?" She was screaming now, too. Her southern blood had begun to boil. "Ah need the money, and it's only temporary!"  
  
"I have de money to take care of bot' of us, Rogue!"  
  
"Ah don't want yoah money, Remy! When Ah moved here, it was for me." She held a hand to her chest. "Ah'm flattered that you're willing to take care of me, but Ah want to prove to myself that Ah can do it!"  
  
His eyes flashed. "By how? Selling your body?"  
  
"No, it's only temporary!" She repeated sternly, as if she was trying to get an uncooperative child to listen.  
  
"I don't care! I don't want you going back dere!" He pointed to the club's doors with a swift flick of the wrist.  
  
Rogue shook her head, wispy strands of ginger falling into her eyes. "No way, Remy. Ah'm staying until Ah get another job that pays just as well. Christ, I'm making a week's salary from the Candle Café working just one night here!"  
  
Remy opened his mouth to deliver a snappy comeback, but stopped. Their yelling contest was getting them nowhere; he knew they were both stubborn as all hell and this would get them nothing but a headache, more to dwell on later, and nowhere near a resolution. He needed to think. "Fine, do whatever you want," he muttered. He slid into the seat of his Jag and sped off, leaving a now frustrated and angry Rogue to haul a cab.  
  
  
**  
  
  
Jean took it slow in her car that night. She needed to clear her mind and she wasn't at all in the mood to go home. She never was. She cruised around a bit down a few streets, weaving in and out of alleyways, until the blue digital numbers read 2:15. It was time to head home or she would never make it before her curfew of 2:30.  
  
She pulled into the parking garage and promptly took the elevator up to her penthouse. On her way in through the door, a perky blonde no older than nineteen stepped out. She looked at Jean sheepishly, blushed, and scurried down the hall. Jean rolled her eyes in disgust and pushed her way through the apartment door, slamming it behind her.  
  
In their bedroom, Warren stood in a pair of black silk boxers she had bought him one year for Christmas. He was running a comb through his golden waves when she came in. She walked briskly past him and straight to her walk-in closet.   
  
"Hey, baby," he called, turning from the mirror.  
  
"Hi," she replied curtly from inside the closet. She soon appeared wearing her own lavender silk pajama pants and matching tank.  
  
"What's the matter?" He asked.  
  
"Nothing." She walked straight to their king-sized bed to turn down the fluffy down comforter and sheets.  
  
He strode over to where she stood preparing their bed and slowly but firmly grabbed her wrist. "I'm only going to ask it once." He annunciated clearly.  
  
She stopped and turned to him with pleading eyes. "Warren, she's the second one this month."  
  
They both knew exactly whom Jean was talking about: the blonde just having left the apartment.  
  
Warren took both of her hands and pressed them against his naked chest. "Oh, Jean, honey. How many times do I have to tell you? It's business, love. Just business."   
  
Jean sighed inwardly. How many times HAD she heard that? Too many. He wrapped his arms around her and pressed her tight against his chest. She returned the embrace with the emotion of a brick, her heart tearing in two with every movement he made towards her. Why did he play with her like this? Why didn't he just let her go?  
  
As if he had sensed her thoughts, he said, "You know I can't live without you. I love you and I want to keep you forever." How many times had she heard that, too? At least these words had some truth to them. For whatever reason, he made it clear he never wanted to give her up, like a pretty bird that a selfish child wants to keep caged so he may see it when he so chooses. It was okay for the child to see other birds, but his bird may not fly, ever.  
  
"Besides," he mumbled into her velvet soft hair, his favorite attribute of hers. "Where would you go if you left me? You know how unhappy it would make me if you were anywhere but by my side." He caressed the back of her neck. "I would be extremely angry." Simply put: I'll make your life a living hell if you even think about leaving me. Jean sank helpless into his embrace and Warren smiled satisfied above her, resting his chin atop her head. He rocked her for a moment like a small child and laid her down on the sheets. "See, Jeannie? We belong together."  
  
He climbed into bed beside her and clutched her possessively against him throughout the whole night, making sure every position they shifted in kept physical contact.  
  
Jean didn't know what to think of her husband. The sex was good, and the money was good, but they didn't love each other and that was that. At least Jean had matured enough to grow out of her dreamy adolescent phase. They were young and, hell, they thought they were in love; but when it's over it's over, and Jean knew that time had long come. Warren, however, really thought he still loved her, even though he couldn't keep himself away from other women. He wanted the best of both worlds, and growing up getting anything he wanted thanks to his rich daddy, he got it.  
  
As she had done so many previous nights before, Jean fell asleep with a racing mind and a desolate soul.  
  
**  
  
Ororo Munroe stepped through the door of her apartment and slithered out of her clothes. She plopped naked on her bed and maneuvered into the satin sheets, lying comfortably with the lamp on until she felt ready to go to sleep. Although it was well past two in the morning, Ororo's mind was racing, her creative juices flowing. She could very well have gotten up out of bed and composed a beautiful sonnet or planted another rosebush in her garden on the roof, as she was fond of both poetry and gardening, but she opted instead to simply lay peacefully in bed and revel in the serene atmosphere she created for herself.   
  
The beautiful African's mind was mostly consumed with the thought of a single man, tall, alluring, really quite handsome in that rugged, feral attractive way. He had piercing blue eyes and a mane of unruly blonde hair framing his square jaw. Victor Creed, she believed he said his name was. He visited the club often, arriving no later than nine and leaving no earlier than closing. He was always watching, staring, gazing, devouring her with his savage stare. Ororo was very capable of taking care of herself, after all, she was single and attractive and living alone in a New York apartment, but this Creed man made her very uneasy. She found herself darting out of the club the back way almost every night, trying to avoid him.  
  
At first, she was flattered with the attention, even responsive. But when he began following her home, as had been the case two or three times, she began to pick up a metaphorical "bad feeling" from him. She wanted to tell Logan about it, any of the girls, even Warren, but she was a capable woman and only when there arose a serious problem would she do so.   
  
At the thought of men troubles, Ororo's mind turned to Rogue and her little dilema. She had had to give the southerner a ride home because the two had apparently had a tiff in the parking lot resulting in him taking off. Rogue was just about to hail a cab when Ororo found her and offered the extremely grateful girl a ride.   
  
Men, can't live with them, can't kill them. And with that, Ororo turned off the lamp on her bedside table and drifted into a blissful slumber.  
  
Continued...  
  
  
  
  
  
**Though Remy's eyes are red on black, these characters are not mutants.  
  
**Thank you Metroprincess for so kindly and benevolently pointing out my mistake. Boy, do I feel like an ass! Liquor, liquor, liquor. There! Is everyone satisfied?  



	4. Spotted

The Velvet Red  
  
Rogue's chest heaved as another racking sob erupted within her. Tears streamed shamelessly down her ivory cheeks and she stared frustrated into the mirror at her puffy red eyes. 'Damn it girl, get it together.'   
  
The familiar sound of two women's laughter prompted Rogue to quickly swipe away the accumulated tears at the brim of her emerald eyes. Jean and Ororo stepped into the dressing room chatting away about Ororo's latest fashion designer pants that, of course, clung to her bodacious thighs like a second skin. Upon noticing Rogue's unmistakable complexion, they rushed to her side, each wrapping a consoling arm around the young woman.  
  
"Aw, honey, what's the matter?" Jean said her face etched with concern.  
  
"Is it that tall, dark, and handsome of yours?" Ororo asked.  
  
Rogue didn't trust herself to speak for fear of releasing a fresh batch of bawls, so she settled for nodding weakly.  
  
"Don't sweat it, hun." Jean offered knowingly. By now, word had gotten around the dressing room about the incident between Rogue and Remy a few nights ago. "Pretty soon, he'll come crawling back to you on his hands and knees."  
  
The three shared a laugh. "Yeah," Ororo chimed. "Men, who needs 'em! We women need to stick together."  
  
"Ah just feel so bad about the whole thang."  
  
"Don't. Everything will work out in the end." Jean paused and beamed slyly at the other two. "Group hug!" She exclaimed, grasping them in a huge embrace. Rogue and Ororo laughed as the three formed a huddle and absorbed support from one another.  
  
"Hey! What's this going on? An inspirational session without yours truly?" The women turned to see Betsy in the doorway, hands planted firmly on her curvaceous hips.   
  
Jean, Ororo, and Rogue broke from the hug. "You're late," Jean announced: the obvious, unsaid leader of the group.   
  
"I know, I'm sorry. I wasn't feeling well." She turned from where she was hastily undressing. "One of those days, you know?"  
  
Jean moved to where the beautiful Asian was dressing into her costume and assisted her in zipping up the back. "We were just discussing Rogue's men traumas."  
  
Elisabeth spun around and dashed to her dressing table, quickly slapping on some fake eyelashes to complete her Playboy bunny costume. "He's still not over it? God, looks like I'm going to have to pass him a note in study hall." She threw a wink over to a smirking Rogue.   
  
"At least Jean never has to worry about her boyfriend disapproving of her employment." Ororo said from where she was counting cigars in the tray. Only three missing; looks like Logan was cutting back. Then again, the night was young.  
  
"What?" Rogue asked. "Why doesn't Jean have to worry about her boyfriend?"  
  
The other three women stopped their preparations and turned to peer into Rogue's questioning eyes. She suddenly felt like she had said something foolish and unconsciously shrank under their gaze.  
  
Jean spoke. "Oh, nobody told you?" The three women suddenly chuckled nervously, the awkward moment passing them by. "Warren's my husband. Geez, I'm sorry, Dixie. I thought you knew."  
  
Rogue shrugged. "No biggie." A thought struck her: The Velvet Red. "Is that where the name of this joint comes from?"  
  
Jean grinned. "The one and only. I swear, that man is obsessed with my hair if nothing else. He always says to me," Her voice strikingly became that of Warren's, " 'Jean, redheads are so damned hard to find. I'm truly blessed to snag a sexy thing like you.'"   
  
The women laughed.  
  
"Speaking of Jean and men," started Ororo from where she was just shutting the crack in the dressing room door she had made to survey the night's crowd. "Your little Romeo is here tonight, Jean."  
  
"Again!" Betsy exclaimed, rushing to the door to see for herself. "God, I don't know what it is about that good girl routine but that poor lad is whipped."  
  
"With a capital W," Rogue giggled, situating her notepad and pen in her waitress apron.   
  
"Shut-up, you guys." Jean nearly blushed, an experience she hadn't endured since the tenth grade. Try as she might, the stunning redhead could not deny the fact that her heart had indeed leapt momentarily at Ororo's announcement. Scott hadn't been seen at the club since the night she'd told him off, and guilt overcame her every time she recalled the incident. Now that he was back, just as he promised he would be, should she be mortified or relieved? Would he still want to see her? Why does she even care? 'I don't,' Jean told herself. 'I couldn't care less. I am a happily... I am a married woman.'  
  
The knock at the door brought Jean from her reverie. Assuming it was Warren, she answered it herself. She was genuinely surprised to be greeted by two beautiful bouquets of full, long-stemmed roses. Jean hardly noticed the man peeking from behind them until he said, "Delivery for a Miss Rogue."  
  
Rogue leapt from her seat and scurried to the door, taking one of the bouquets in a giant arm full. "Oh mah Gawd! They're beautiful!" Jean relieved the man from the second batch, thanked him and closed the door, turning to a wide-eyed Rogue and setting the flowers down on her dressing table.  
  
Rogue fumbled with shaking hands at the card. She read it silently, a joyful smile playing at her ruby lips. "They're from Remy." She managed as tears welled up in her eyes once more.   
  
"You think?" Betsy smiled, inhaling the petals' heavenly scent. "Christ, what a doll." Rogue nodded dumbly, staring in awe at the flowers. "Now get out there before your make-up runs." Betsy said, taking the bouquet and setting them down next to the other one.   
  
Rogue grinned gleefully and headed out the door, followed by Ororo who just rolled her eyes.  
  
**  
  
Remy threw open the door to the apartment he shared with his girlfriend and tossed his keys in the little tray in the foyer. He hung his coat sloppily on a hanger in the closet and settled onto the leather armchair in the living room, kicking off his Rodolpho shoes in the process.   
  
He tipped his head back and screwed his eyes shut, trying to erase the day he had just accomplished from his mind. It had been long and hard; Mariah Carey had been less than pleasant in the studio. 'Damn divas,' Remy thought.  
  
He picked up the remote before promptly lying it back down on the coffee table. No, he needed to think. He couldn't just push it aside until she came home then get caught not knowing what to say. The first thing he knew she was going to bring up was the roses. Why he had finally picked up the phone and called Michael's was beyond him. No wait; no it wasn't.   
  
He missed her.  
  
Simple as that, really. She still resided with him in this very apartment and everything. They still woke up together, side by side, still shared the same wash machine and cars, but she was not with him. They were both so damned stubborn that neither one gave the slightest implication of forgiveness. They didn't eat meals together; they didn't kiss each together goodnight or good-bye; they hadn't even spoken a word to each other since 'the fight'- their very first REAL fight.  
  
He found himself thinking about her more often than not, almost to the point where it was affecting his work just to daydream about a beautiful, sassy belle with a shock of white through her rust-colored curls. Music track sequences were replaced with the thought of two sea-green eyes; acoustic checks were replaced with fantasies about a woman with lush curves and creamy skin. Everything reminded him of her laugh, her scent, her honey dulcet voice.   
  
'I'm going crazy', he thought, running a hand through his auburn strands, then chuckled humorlessly at his position. Not a year ago, the only thing Remy believed women to be good for was a late night rush. Hell, he remembered laughing at the men he knew that were wrapped willingly around a woman's little finger. Now here he sat, forced to do nothing but agree with those men when they said, 'It's worth it.'  
  
Finally, Remy had had enough, so he decided on flowers. He thought it best to just swallow his pride and be the one to forgive and forget. He could live with what she was doing, but he couldn't live without her. Besides, if they were going to spend the rest of their life together (Damn! Thinking about marriage already!), they were going to have to learn to cope with each other's preferences, decisions, and past mistakes. Lord knows he was going to have to be mighty forgiving to her now in case she ever found out about his stained past.   
  
**  
  
Rogue rushed out of the elevator and swiftly made her way down the hall to her door. She was lucky to get off so early, but she had begged Jean to cover the floor for her after the woman had finished her stage routine. It took some heavy persuasion, and a bit of bribery, but Jean's firm reluctance eventually transformed into begrudged acceptance, and Rogue was off.  
  
God, she missed him. She missed everything about him. Too many times lately had she come home to a cold shoulder or unforgiving sneer, to which she would quickly retort with one nearly identical, then add a disgusted snort for good measure. Why had she done these things? She wasn't sure. He did them, so she did them, which is why he came back with them, so she threw it right back. It was a vicious cycle and she was extremely thankful it was over. That man was going to beg for more by the time she was finished with him tonight.   
  
Rogue proceeded through the door, closing it with a slow click behind her. She smiled at the sight of Remy dozed off in the armchair and went to where he sat. She savored the sight for a second longer before crawling into his lap and burying her hands in his hair. She moved in to plant a slow, lasting kiss on his slightly parted lips.   
  
He slowly roused from the catnap and moved his lips mechanically to receive the kiss without opening his eyes. After fully waking and realizing what was happening, he placed his hands on the small of her back and pressed her firmly against his body. They melted together for a long anticipated and much-needed kiss, restoring their bodies, then slowly, slowly broke the embrace.   
  
For a moment, they just gazed into each other's eyes. Rogue's breath caught in her throat. Those eyes; no one had eyes like that.   
  
They both knew they needed to talk. So many things had to be discussed. But, it wasn't talking that had gotten Remy and Rogue this far- it was unbridled passion. They thrived on it, and this time was no different. Thinking rationally could wait until morning. Right now, there was nothing but the two of them and raw desire.   
  
**  
  
Jean set down the man's brandy in front of his protruding gut. She smiled and turned to go, but he reached for her arm and gently guided her back.   
  
"Wait a second, there, sweetheart. What's the rush?" His breath reeked of liquor. Jean gave him a quick glance over for pure amusement. He was about forty-five, married according to the band around his pudgy finger, and probably had kids, or a wife that wanted some. But no, he was here trying to get laid by a stripper, drunk. His eyes took on what he must have thought was an alluring, come-hither stare. "How's about you stay here and keep me company, what do you say?" The man nudged her down by the arm and settled Jean on his left knee, pressing her close.  
  
Jean immediately shot back up with a polite smile. "I don't think so, sir." He reached to retrieve her but she grabbed a finger and twisted it until it made a satisfying pop. He yelped in pain and stood shakily to retort, but by then Logan had seen the occurrence and was already escorting the man out of the club... not so gently.   
  
Once alone again, Jean glanced warily around the room. There he was, sitting at one of the various poker tables and obviously doing mediocre by the pile of chips stacked before him. Was he still coming for her? Jean couldn't help but hope so.  
  
As nonchalantly as possible, she went to that particular table and asked if anyone needed anything. When nobody did, she moved behind Scott and glanced at his hand: a pair of fours, and he was bluffing for all he was worth.   
  
Scott's mind was reeling. He had thought she left. After all, she had been on stage that night, hadn't she? But no, she was obviously still here, standing behind him. God, it had been awhile since he had gotten the time to drop by, but he hadn't seen her for so long and that day at work, no matter what, he knew he couldn't stand one more night; he had to go see her.   
  
Even he didn't know why the hell he was acting like a kid, all hot and bothered. Not that he was the type for one-night flings, that wasn't his style. In fact, he had had several long-term girlfriends before, but no woman ever got under his skin like this one. Maybe it was because she kept refusing him; that was kind of sexy in it's own playful way. But it was only part of it. She was just...attractive, he guessed. No, there was something else. He felt drawn to her for some reason, like a magnet, even though they hadn't talked for more than twenty minutes altogether. 'Love at first sight? Jesus, Scott, grow up.'  
  
"Get outta here, Red. This is a big boy's game." Scott recognized the owner of the voice sitting across from him as a man he saw in here every time he came, which was often. He was a big blonde with the I.Q of a brick, but he had decent card instinct. Creed is what Scott remembered everyone calling him.   
  
Scott heard the innocent smile in Jean's voice from where she stood behind him. "Aw, can't I just watch a little?" Creed didn't respond except to grunt, annoyed. Jean leaned over Scott's shoulder and stared intently at his cards. She smelt like Ivory soap and Eternity; Scott fought to keep his blood from racing. "Gee, four queens look pretty together, don't they?" She looked over to Scott with large, questing eyes. He chuckled.  
  
The men at the table exchanged weary glances before promptly folding. Scott laughed again and laid his own hand down, revealing his two fours. The other men glared menacingly at him, but settled for dealing another game, minus him. As Scott gathered his winnings he heard Creed mumble something undoubtedly vulgar under his breath, but he chose to ignore it and moved to the bar.   
  
To his immense pleasure, Jean followed him. "I haven't done that in years. I must say I'm surprised they fell for it." She laughed.  
  
Scott shrugged. "They weren't the best players here." He paused. "I should know. I come here often enough."  
  
She shook her head, slightly pleased with the undivided attention. "Nuh-uh, don't you dare blame me for that. You come here of your own free will."  
  
Free will? He was slowly losing grip on it, clutching at it with white knuckles, but she chipped off a piece of it for herself every time she spoke. Scott shrugged and looked away, not sure what to say next. There were a million things he WANTED to say, but 'Hello, I think I'm falling head over heels for you, I adore you more every time I see you, would you like to have dinner?' didn't exactly come on as the best ice breaker.  
  
**  
  
Warren Worthington III zipped up his black Armani pants and sat back in his chair. The young brunette stood from her position on the floor and wiped the corners of her mouth. With a lazy flip of the hand, Warren silently dismissed her and she was out his office door.  
  
'What a waste of my life that little slut was.' He thought idly while pulling on his coat. It was just past midnight, a little early to head home, but Munroe and Braddock could hold down the fort by themselves- Warren was in the mood for his voluptuous redhead.   
  
He trotted down the winding stairs behind the bar and scanned the floor for his wife. He saw her.  
  
Warren couldn't hear anything but the blood boiling in his veins and he couldn't see anything but the tip of her head as she laughed joyfully at something the little punk had said. The guy was sitting down at one of the single tables, chatting amicably with her. Jean was leaning against the table, a little too suggestively for Warren's comfort. He didn't like it; she was playing with the damned loser, teasing him, tempting him, maybe even seducing him. Perhaps not outright- no, Jean was too smart for that. But it was the little things only he could notice. The certain inclination of her body, the way she seemingly carelessly toyed with a lock of her, correction HIS, glorious mane of red curls, the way her voice slightly dropped to a bit lower, slightly alluring tone.  
  
He marched right over, fuming.  
  
"That's when Xavier asked me to come work for him-"  
  
"Hey! What the hell is going on, here?"   
  
Scott looked over to a man that had just reached Jean's side and was strapping a possessive arm around her waist. He was glaring at Scott and nudging Jean away.   
  
"Warren," She began, weakly.  
  
Warren wasn't listening to her, though. He was too busy sticking his left hand in Scott's face, flashing the gold band around his finger. "See this, pal?" He nodded toward Jean, venom in his voice and lightning in his eyes. "She's got one just like it, but it's against policy to wear it while she's on the clock. Clear?" He clenched his jaw and led his wife away.  
  
Scott opened his mouth to protest or retort, but Jean turned and shook her head sadly, giving him a silent, 'please don't.' His stomach dropped at the pain in her eyes.   
  
**  
  
Warren ushered Jean inside on of the side rooms used for storage. She glanced around at the old, torn costumes used for their buttons and accessories, and some of the sound system junk stashed away in there. Warren slammed the door behind him but it only somewhat drowned out the club's music blaring through the mega speakers positioned throughout the building.  
  
He spun around and quickly closed the gap between them, putting his face very close to hers. "What the fuck was that all about?" He said coldly through gritted teeth. Jean shivered involuntarily and cursed herself the minute she did. It only proved to him that he was very capable of intimidating her.   
  
"It was nothing Warren. He's just a paying customer," was her flippant response.  
  
It only served in making him angrier. "Nothing? It didn't look like nothing. In fact, if you had been leading him on anymore, shaking your ass and tits, I think I might have had to get some divorce papers in the works!"  
  
If only, she thought. "Warren, you're being ridiculous."   
  
"Am I?" He said quickly. She nodded mutely. Warren cupped her chin with his right hand and caught her eyes, burying his other hand in her long tresses. He saw only the eyes he fell in love with when he was just a kid, twenty-two at most. They were bright, large innocent eyes, deep as a blue star. How could he stay mad at her for long? He loved her.  
  
He gazed her up and down from their close position. Jean squirmed tightly under his searing stare, feeling very vulnerable in her skimpy waitress attire. She had a sick feeling she knew what was coming next.  
  
"I'm sorry, baby." He placed a kiss fit for an angel on her forehead. "Forgive me?"  
  
She nodded weakly and turned her back to him to collect her self. After a brief second, she lifted her head defiantly with renewed spirit. She would not let him see her broken heart. He smiled. "Good," he breathed into her hair from behind.  
  
Warren began trailing kisses down the back of her neck, moving at an agonizing pace until he reached the clasp of her outfit and unhooked it, letting the garment fall to her waist. Each kiss was different; Warren was just complicated and complex like that. Some were filthy and made her flinch or screw her eyes shut, but some were sweet and soft like petals or wings, and it was the latter that let her fool her self into believing that there was still hope for her husband.  
  
He turned her to face him again and slid the bodysuit over her hips, letting it drop to the floor. Jean stole a wary glance at the unlocked door. "Warren," she whispered. "The door isn't locked." His only response was to lean in and meet her lips again with his own. She received his kiss coldly as he undid the button of his pants and backed her against a wall, moving his mouth to her neck. He hoisted her up and she instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist, suppressing her cries of joy and disgust with small whimpers at every thrust he made into her.   
  
He was doing this to her for a reason, she just knew it. He was letting her know who was boss with a quick and dirty fuck against a side room wall.  
  
For a fleeting moment, her mind flittered to Scott. She wondered how he made love. Was he ever fast and rough, like this, or did he do it right every time- kissing every part of her and making sure she was satisfied through and through? Had he ever been in love? Where was he now? Was he very mad at her?  
  
Jean dwelled on this for some time, only absently returning Warren's kisses.  
  
**  
  
Rogue lied awake in her bed, the city lights acting as artificial starlight pouring into her room. Absently, she missed the nights on the banks of the Mississippi, looking up at the Southern sky and losing your self in it with wide-eyed dreams of someday making it in the 'big time.' Her hands were folded over her flat, growling stomach. "Oh, hush," she told it. "It's coming."  
  
As if on cue, Remy walked through their bedroom door, a plate of two grilled cheese sandwiches in hand. "'Bout time!" Rogue said, sitting up.  
  
"Yeah, yeah. You want dem so fast you can make 'em yourself." He grinned as she relieved him of the plate so he could climb back into their bed beside her, under the warm covers.   
  
They avoided any important conversation until about ten minutes after they finished their meal. "Mah, you make a mean grilled cheese, Cajun." Rogue brushed crumbs off her sheet.  
  
"I don't t'ink you made a big enough mess, cherie." He said, brushing invisible ones off her thigh, and 'accidentally' forgot to remove his hand. Rogue just smiled and leaned into her lover, he wrapping his other arm around her. "We need to talk, Rogue."  
  
"Ah know," she replied, sighing. There was a pause before she spoke again. "Ah want to start." She sat up and looked her Cajun dead in the eye. "Ah just want you to know, Remy, that Ah don't intend on leaving my job. Yah know Ah love you, very much, more than Ah've ever loved anyone in mah entiah life, but Ah have to do this, for mahself."  
  
Remy absorbed the statement and nodded. "Alright, Rogue. I understand, and I'm willing to except it, but only on one condition."  
  
Rogue nodded. "Alraght, what?"  
  
He stared intently into her fathomless green eyes, his tone taking a serious dip. "You have to promise me you'll try to get a better job. I know de café doesn't pay as well as you'd like it to, but listen. You have everyt'ing de next girl has in dis city to find a job. You went to school, you're confident, you've got people skills. I just don't want to see you sell yourself short because dis job you're at now pays great. Promise me it's only temporary, chere." He caressed one soft cheek and she melted into it.   
  
"Okay, Remy. Ah promise. Ah'll look for another one." She sniffled a bit and bit her lip, trying not to let one of the rare tender moments the couple shared pass her by due to her damned sensitivity.   
  
"Dere, all better." Remy pulled Rogue close again, breathing in her womanly scent. 'Glad dat's over.' He thought thankfully. Looking at her and not being able to touch her was getting to be a bit much for him.   
  
Rogue gratefully snuggled into Remy, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist. She glanced up at him and stared into his entrancing eyes with her own meaningful gaze. Remy smirked down at her, knowing full well what was on her mind. Not that he could talk; he, too, couldn't get enough of her. She was like an addiction his body craved, which explained the 'forgive me' roses.   
  
Remy encircled Rogue with his arms and held her tight against his body, showering her face and neck with kisses as he laid her back down on the pillow. She clutched the sheets as Remy's lips and hands slowly traveled down her sleek, toned body. He was slowly driving her to insanity, teasing the core of her with his wicked tongue and mouth. She laced her fingers through his thick hair, driving him deeper.  
  
She was just scraping ecstasy when Remy returned in her line of vision, hovering himself over her on his elbows. She looked up at him coyly. "Why'd yah stop, boy?"  
  
He didn't reply, just stared at her. It should be illegal to be that beautiful, he decided. When you've got a girl that can make a thief give up his nightlife, you know she's definitely something remarkable. He grew weak all over again when he looked down at her in that bed with passion-bruised lips and glittering, wanton eyes.  
  
Rogue's blood ran burning through her veins when he looked at her like that. It was love, no doubt about it, and it was better than any sex any man could offer. She curled a shapely leg against his hip, urging him to continue. He quickly obliged, and drove her wild all night long.   
  
**  
  
The phone's ring pierced the silence of the bedroom and woke Jean with a start. She maneuvered out of a sleeping Warren's arms and wrenched the receiver off the hook. A call this late was never good news.  
  
"Hello?" She asked in a tight voice.  
  
Warren blinked open bleary, water blue eyes and stared on in bewilderment. Who the hell had the nerve to call this late at, he glanced at the blue digital numbers next to the phone on his bedside, two a.m. "Betsy?" Jean said. He rolled his eyes and turned over, mystery solved. "Oh my God! Are you serious?" Her voice was scared, and a bit shaky. "Wha... when?" Pause. "Alright; I'll be right there. Keep her there, you too. Yeah. Bye."  
  
Warren rolled back over when he felt her warmth leave the bed. "Where are you going?"  
  
She was pulling on jeans and a sweatshirt. "I have to go to the club. Something's happened." She secured her hair in a high, mussed ponytail and snatched her keys from the dresser.   
  
Warren propped himself on a pillow. "What? At the club?"  
  
She shook her head and shoved her feet into her sneakers. "No, not at the club, just by it. Don't worry, no insurance hassles or anything." Was that a twinge of bitterness he detected in her voice?   
  
He nodded and fell back into the sheets. "Alright. Hurry back, baby." Curiosity soon got the best of him, and as she was heading out the door, he couldn't help but say, "At least give me a hint."  
  
She looked back at him briefly to say, "It's Ororo. Something's happened." Then she was off, with fear in her eyes and uncertainty in her voice.  



	5. Dignity To Its Knees

The Velvet Red  
  
Jean pulled into The Velvet Red's parking lot in record time. Abandoning her purse and keys in the car, she slammed the car door behind her and rushed into the empty club.   
  
Ororo was lying on the plush sofa in the dressing room, a brown leather jacket draped across her resting form. Scott stood behind the couch, shifting nervously and clearly feeling out of place.  
  
Betsy stood from where she was kneeling beside Ororo to give Jean a hug upon her arrival.   
  
"Oh God, Jean," was all she could choke out.   
  
Jean resumed Betsy's position next to the couch and brushed a few disobedient strands of platinum from the goddess' closed eyes. "What happened?" Jean bit back tears. It hurt unbearably to see this strong woman brought so weak. It reminded her that if it could happen to Ororo, it could happen to anybody.   
  
Elisabeth paced the room anxiously. "Some fucker caught her on her way out through the alley door. Guess he wouldn't take no for an answer. He left her there when he was done." The beautiful Asian's voice dripped with bitter venom, her sharp, pretty features twisted into a disgusted snarl. She jerked a thumb at Scott. "Anyways, this guy heard her on his way to the car." Betsy's expression suddenly became as scared and soft as Jean's. She was nearly crying when she said, "Said she was moaning for help. He found her without a stitch of clothing." She joined Jean on the floor beside their best friend. "Our Ororo was moaning for help."  
  
Jean wrapped a comforting arm around Elisabeth and the two women cried in each other's support. Ororo's icy eyes fluttered open. "Jean," she muttered weakly at the mass of red in front of her. The two women immediately turned full attention on Ororo.   
  
"Oh my God; honey, are you alright?" Jean clasped her friend's hands in her own.  
  
She nodded slowly. "Yes, I'm alright." She glanced a bit sheepishly at her scantily covered form. "Some clothes would be appreciated."  
  
Jean and Betsy wasted no time in getting the exotic woman dressed. Jean stripped out of her sweatshirt ignoring the night chill her white tank did nothing to rescue her from, and slipped Ororo into it. Betsy found a pair of Rogue's old jeans crumpled on the hair supplies shelf.   
  
Once fully clad, Ororo turned her attention to Scott. Smiling, she handed him his jacket. "Thank you."   
  
He nodded clumsily, struck with the sudden attention. "No problem."  
  
Jean tried to smile her thanks to him, but he refused to meet her eyes. She considered that maybe it was just her imagination and tried speaking with him. "Yes, thank you, Scott. Who knows how long she would have been out there."  
  
He didn't respond except to briefly meet her eyes. Jean's heart sank to somewhere in the pit of her; he definitely was not speaking to her. And why should he? She HAD technically lied to him all that time, never once mentioning Warren. He had every right to be pissed, which was exactly what he currently was.   
  
The uncomfortable silence created by Scott's snub was broken when Jean asked where Logan was.  
  
"Tracking down the bastard," Betsy replied, popping a few tablets in her mouth. Jean frowned. "By the look on his face when he took off, I bet the only one that will be able to identify the body will be the asshole's dentist."  
  
Jean nodded in agreement. She knew Logan went insane when something happened on his turf. A rape, well, that was punishable by death as far as he was concerned, especially one involving any of them.   
  
"She needs rest."  
  
"I'll take her home," Betsy offered, steadying Ororo's already sitting position.   
  
Jean nodded and began helping Elisabeth's pursuits. She spoke lowly. "Are you sure you're up to it?"  
  
Betsy stared at her friend for a moment, knowing what she was referring to: the speed she had just swallowed. "Yea, I'll be fine. Those were the only two I've taken today." She paused at Jean's incredulous look. "Oh come on! We live in the same apartment building. It would be silly if I wasn't the one to take her."  
  
Ororo placed a hand on Jean's. "I will be fine, my friend." The three women hugged and Betsy was out the door with Ororo in front of her, ardently refusing any help.  
  
A silence settled over the dressing room as Scott pulled on his coat. Jean stole a glance at him, which he abruptly shied away from. She flushed, at first angry with him, but the childish anger soon transformed into self-chastisement. What right did she have to be mad? She was the one that had lied for all this time.  
  
'If she says one word to me I think I'll explode,' Scott thought, taking more time than usual to head out the door. Surely he wasn't waiting for her to say something, to beg him for forgiveness, was he?  
  
"Scott, I... I don't know what to say." Jean's voice stuttered from behind him. She bit her lip and toyed with the hem of her tank, contemplating her next words. Why did it matter so much to her whether he stayed or went, whether he forgave or refused? It did matter, damn it. "I'm sorry," she whispered.  
  
Scott spun around from where he stood at the door, a sudden wave of rage having swept over him. "Sorry? Yeah, me too. I'm sorry I made a fool of myself for so long, acting like a damned dog performing tricks for a pretty face. I'm sorry you're married and, oh I don't know, forgot to mention that to me every night I took time out of my life to stop by. You KNEW I was coming to see YOU!"  
  
He clenched his teeth and the doorknob with his hand until his knuckles turned an unusual shade of ivory. Jean swallowed. "I am sorry! I wanted to tell you, but... but I was afraid!"  
  
Silence for a moment. "Afraid?" Scott repeated.  
  
She nodded, walking over to him. "Yes. I guess, I don't know, I guess I was afraid that if I told you I would never see you again and you seem like such a hell of a nice guy. I know that sounds terribly selfish."  
  
Scott's fury and refusal fell to its knees when she approached him with tears welled in her big eyes. "I'm really sorry, though, I just..."  
  
"Stop," he said, holding up a hand to halt her words. "You don't have to apologize; it's alright." Where the words had come from, Scott had no idea.  
  
Relief swallowed Jean and she let out a sigh. "Thank you."   
  
Scott stepped a few feet closer to her, keeping his voice low. "But you're happy? He treats you okay?"   
  
Jean smiled up at him. His chivalrous act was all too cute to resist. Reluctantly, she nodded. "Yeah, I'm happy with him." Would she ever stop lying to the poor lad?  
  
  
Logan briskly made his way back to the club, satisfied with the job he had completed. He hoped the fucker knew he was lucky to walk out of it alive, but Logan was positive he made it pretty clear that the next time Victor, or anyone for that matter, pulled something like that again, the poor guy would get a lot more than a beat to a bloody pulp.  
  
The Canadian born bouncer stepped easily through the alley and finally through the side door, stopping immediately after he gained entrance. Hidden behind a dressing wall, Scott and Jean had obviously not heard him come in. They were standing dangerously close and Jean's head was only inches from resting on Scott's shoulder. Scott held her hips gently in an embrace that looked both comforting and awkward at the same time. She was murmuring something to him, and he nodded in agreement every so often.  
  
Logan wasn't sure whether he should leave them in peace or rob them of their privacy. Since he couldn't bring himself to move, he unconsciously performed the latter. Besides, there wasn't much he knew about this Summers guy. How did Logan know he wasn't some psycho just waiting for the perfect moment to strike, a little bit smarter than Creed? After what happened to Ororo, Logan didn't want to take any chances.   
  
He watched as Jean lifted her face to stare into the kid's eyes. Before Logan knew it, Scott was leaning into her to steal a kiss. This had definitely gone too far. Jean was an emotional mess after tonight. After all, Ororo was one of her closest friends. She didn't know what she was doing and Logan was sure Warren wouldn't be too happy with what was about to happen, either. A split second before their lips met, Logan opened the door he had just come in from and slammed it, causing the two startled occupants of the room to jump away from each other.   
  
He sauntered into the room as if he had no idea he had just stopped Jean from committing an act she would later regret. They were on opposite sides of the room by now and looked sheepishly up at him as if they were children having been caught red-handed in the act of stealing a bike.   
  
"Logan! Are you alright?" Jean said after a moment, rushing to him and giving him a quick glance-over. He just smiled and nodded.   
  
"Yea, Red, I'm fine. Aren't I always?"   
  
Jean bit her bottom lip. How much had he seen? It didn't seem like much, but Logan was far too nice a guy to just barge in and embarrass us.   
  
"Did you find the guy?" Scott asked.  
  
"Hell yea I got him. Let's just say I can guarantee he'll never do it again." The stout man replied dryly, stealing a cigar from the supply tray and lighting it up.  
  
"Good," Jean declared. "I'll have to get Warren to let her off for the next couple of days. Hell, I need to tell him what happened! Good-Bye you two." Jean spun around and left the room, her eyes briefly meeting Scott's before exiting.  
  
Once gone, Logan settled his eyes on Scott Summers. This guy was definitely going to have to prove himself before he spent any more time with any of the women, especially the only one that was already married.  
  
Scott returned the speculative stare. "What? Do you have a thing for her, too?"  
  
Logan shrugged, playing it cool. "I'm not really sure what you mean."  
  
"Oh come on. Why else would someone stand there for as long as you did and decide which course of action to take?" Scott retorted.  
  
"I'm just trying to make sure she doesn't make a mistake that could ruin her life. She's a happily married woman, pal." Logan said quickly, only slightly surprised Scott had been aware of his presence. He paused, deciding this was getting off on the wrong foot. "Look, I'm not trying to be a dick, I'm just saying you'd be better off letting this woman slip through your hands. Warren's got more connections than JFK, if you know what I mean. The only thing you'll end up with is a broken heart and a bottle of whiskey in your fist."  
  
Scott nodded and pulled open the door to the street. "Thanks for the tip." And then he left, leaving Logan to shut down.  
  
Logan shook his head and smiled to himself. 'Just a bright-eyed kid falling hard in love.'  
  
**  
  
Elisabeth Braddock made sure to pack her stun gun in her purse the next night; she was taking no chances. In the dressing room, she and Jean were killing time before she had to go on stage, chatting and splitting a bottle of red wine. Betsy had gotten little sleep the previous night. She was restless lying in bed, sorrowful over Ororo and fearful for herself. The rape of the woman that had through the years become an idol to Betsy was unnerving to the violet-haired beauty. Ororo was so strong, a powerful atmosphere surrounding her as she treaded on important, confident air. She was truly a woman to look up to, a woman demanding of respect. Her rape was a chunk of dignity chiseled out of the chocolate skinned goddess, never to be reclaimed. If acted as a bucket of cold water on all of the women. If it could happen to Ororo, it could certainly happen to anyone.  
  
Betsy did not like it one bit. And so there she sat, dismal and glazed with fatigue. Idly, she pulled open her vanity drawer and retrieved a little white bottle, twisting open the cap and popping two small pills in her mouth. She tried to ignore the concerned look etched on Jean's face, but to no avail.  
  
"Jean, hun, you worry too much."  
  
Jean shook her head and opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted with Rogue's entrance. Silently, Betsy thanked whomever for that one.  
  
"Man! Ah am going to be swamped tonaght! It's only 7:00 and the house is already almost full!"  
  
"You want some help? I'll shoot over to floor right after my routine." Betsy offered, implying to Rogue single-handedly waitressing the club. Ororo was supposed to assist, but true to her word, Jean had gotten Warren to give her a couple of days to recoup- that was the best she could do.   
  
"Aw, thanks, that'd be great Betsy." Rogue replied gratefully.   
  
"I would help while she's on stage, Dixie, but I've got to get ready for my routine. I'm not even close!" Jean waved a hand over her robe-clad body for emphasis.  
  
**  
  
Rogue scurried to and fro on the club's floor, jotting drink orders and delivering cigars.   
  
"Hey gorgeous!" Rogue spun around and strode to a table with a blonde man, late twenties, not bad looking. He glanced at her nametag and smiled. "I'm sorry. What I meant to say was 'Hey Rogue!'"   
  
She smiled briefly and positioned her pen and paper, signaling to him she was sort of in a rush. He threw his hands up in defense and Rogue then detected that he was already a bit drunk. "Alright, alright, I can take a hint! I'll have a scotch and soda, some bread sticks, and a date with you, how about Thursday?" Rogue suppressed a smile. He was actually kind of cute, in that all-American boy kind of way, but her heart was long taken by a Southern boy with blazing eyes and a sly smile.   
  
"Ah don't think so, sugah, but the drink and bread sticks are coming right up!"   
  
"No, no, stay. I'll try harder, and I promise, my opening lines are always better second time around." He winked and rested a hand on her hip, gliding it across the back of her and up her dress into territory 'off-limits.'   
  
It had all happened so fast, and before Rogue could even step from his embrace, the blonde received a blow across the cheek, but not by the Southern woman...by the Southern man.  
  
"Remy!" Rogue shouted, but he was long from listening. Remy and the blonde were engaged in a fight, sprawled on the carpet.   
  
Scott was just laying down a pair of Aces when he heard the commotion from across the room, catching not only his but every other club patron's interest. He threw his cards down and rushed to where he heard Rogue's screams of protest. By the time he had arrived, Logan had already broken the fight up- the two men separated a good distance away.  
  
Rogue was screaming at Remy but he didn't seem to be listening, he was eyeing daggers into the kid that had been groping Rogue. Scott glanced over at the blonde, and recognized him immediately.   
  
"Bobby! What the hell were you thinking?"  
  
Bobby looked up. "Scott! Hey buddy, since when do you start having a good time? Can't stay away, either, huh? Yeah, they've got some nice women here." He shot Rogue a carefree smile solely for Remy's purpose. She merely rolled her eyes in response, trying to calm her boyfriend down.  
  
**  
  
"I have never been so embarrassed in all my life! Where the fuck is he?" Warren barged through the doors of the dressing room, Jean close in tow, tying her plum colored robe around her waist as she tried to calm her husband.   
  
Rogue looked up from where she was nursing Remy's swollen black eye with an ice pack, biting her lip nervously. Remy merely sneered, gently tugging her hand away and standing up. "I'm right here."  
  
"Do you have any idea how much I had to pay that guy off so he wouldn't press charges against our asses? You're just lucky the guy could be shut up with a check!" Warren said through gritted teeth.  
  
"Yeah, well, I know how well they're looked after, here." Remy snarled, implying the incident with Ororo. Rogue silently expressed gratitude Logan had been out on floor settling the place down and not in here to hear that.  
  
Warren took a few restrained steps toward Remy. "Just what the hell are you trying to say? You know, she doesn't have to work here." He pointed a warning finger at Rogue and her eyes got wide for a fleeting second.  
  
Jean decided to stop this before Warren did something he regretted. He wasn't entirely logical when he was furious. She intervened between the two, nudging Warren back with her arm. "Gentlemen! Take it easy! It's been a long night; we're all a bit irritable. Let's go home and cool off, eh?" Jean held her breath in anticipation as the two eyed each other.   
  
Rogue slowly approached Remy's side and placed her hand on his arm. "C'mon sugah. It ain't worth the fight." Remy clenched his jaw but reluctantly let Rogue lead him away and out of the alley door.  
  
Warren sneered in disgust, catching Jean suddenly by the arm and towing her out of the club. Scott was waiting for her by the entrance.  
  
"Jean! Hey, what happened? Is everything alright?"   
  
Jean opened her mouth to thank him for his concern but her words and smile of appreciation were cut off by Warren wrenching her away. "Everything's fine." He spat, and stomped off with Jean on his arm.   
  
**  
  
Later that night, Warren sat on his white leather coach, sipping champagne and listening to music. He could see Jean from where she hung up the phone in the kitchen, having just gotten off with Betsy. Damn, those two gossiped non-stop! He smirked to himself and toyed with the delightful thought of Betsy and Jean for a second, together. He only idly noticed Jean leaning in the doorway, staring at him. He smiled up at her and took another swig of the champagne.  
  
"Hello, love." He took his feet from the footstool and stood, making his way to where she was and wrapping her in his arms. Her only response was to smile weakly. He placed his forehead against her own and gently swayed back and forth to the C.D. playing on the stereo. "I was thinking," he said suddenly, "about that Rogue girl. She's real nice and all, but I don't like her boyfriend a bit. He's been more trouble than she's worth, don't you think?"  
  
Jean slightly tensed in his embrace. Was he going to try to get rid of Rogue? "Oh, I don't know. I love Rogue to death. She's a great worker, and really pretty. She's definitely raking in some cash, that's for sure."   
  
Warren shrugged half-heartedly. "I don't know..." And he left that subject at that. Jean suspected he was hinting at something, but before she could ponder it deeply, Warren was lifting her onto the counter, making a place for him between her legs and nuzzling her ear.   
  
Jean produced an artificial giggle and tenderly pushed him away. "You're too much." She said, keeping her tone playful.  
  
He didn't even attempt to mask his disappointment. "Aw, c'mon." She only snickered and shook her head. He grew impatient. "You owe me."  
  
Bingo. Jean's suspicions were proved true from those three words. He was referring to Ororo being given a few off days to recoup. Jean had promised it'd be worth his while, finding it to be the only way to make him agree with her. She had avoided the unpleasant task for as long as possible, but she knew she couldn't fool Warren. He forgot nothing.   
  
"For me," Warren whispered in her ear, nibbling it between words. "For Rogue."  
  
Jean closed her eyes and rolled them behind her eyelids. She knew it; she knew it! The bastard would indeed go so low as to put Rogue's job on the line if she didn't bend to his every whim. What could she do?  
  
Ten minutes later found Warren adorning her neck and collarbone with kisses as he lied her down on their bed. She complied not entirely willingly, running her slender fingers through his blonde tresses and all over his back. As he made his way down her breasts and over her belly, her eyes fluttered closed once again, this time to think about Scott Summers. She was quite certain now that he would drive her wild if they were to ever make love. He wouldn't be hasty and dominant, wouldn't run his tongue lazily over her bellybutton like Warren was currently doing, but take his sweet time to dip his tongue into her navel, letting her know with his actions how much she meant to him.   
  
Warren halted his doings and looked up at her, smiling. "Something wrong?" Interpretation: If you don't get your fucking act together and start at least pretending to enjoy this, I'm going to get very angry, and I don't go so slow when I'm angry.   
  
Her sensuous lips curled into a smile. "No, nothing at all." She cupped his face and brought him eye level with her again, kissing him fervently on the mouth. He eagerly accepted. Thoughts of Scott flooded her mind, prompting her to take it one step further. She rolled him on his back and planted a trail of electric kisses down his chin and neck, covering his chest and nipping a nipple. He gasped, burying his hands in her ruby ringlets and sitting up, pressing his toned chest against hers.   
  
Her thoughts consumed with Scott now, not a trace of Warren to be found, Jean wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed his lips against hers. Warren moved his mouth down to her breasts, paying homage to each one while Jean's breathing became harder. Her eyes were closed to visualize her preferred lover loving her, not her husband.   
  
Devoted to the idea of Scott, Jean opened her mouth to mumble his name, but immediately closed it upon realizing the mistake she almost committed. Her eyes got wide for a mere instant, but she soon regained her cool, moving to Warren's rhythm once again.  
  
Warren, however, noticed the event and stopped immediately, looking up at her with swollen lips and a bemused expression dwelling in his eyes. "What the hell was that?" He asked flatly.  
  
Jean crinkled her russet eyebrows. "What was what?"  
  
Warren leaned back on his hands, Jean still positioned in his lap. "You know what." His tone was dangerously angry. Jean doubted she'd be able to get out of this one. There was a loud silence when Warren's voice rang stern through the penthouse. "You were thinking about HIM weren't you?" His voice was low and laced with venom. Jean remained silent. What was the point? He knew when she was lying. "Weren't you?!" He nearly yelled, grabbing her by the forearms and bringing her only inches from his face.  
  
Jean sighed and climbed nonchalantly from his lap, slipping a white cotton nightgown over her nude body. When Warren didn't receive an answer, his fury grew. "You little cum-sucking slut! You were thinking about him! In fact, I'll bet you've even fucked the little pimp, haven't you?"  
  
"Warren! Enough!" Jean pleaded, forcing hot tears from spilling. "That's insane! You know I'm faithful." Unlike you, she added silently. She just didn't feel like getting slapped tonight.   
  
Warren shook his head incredulously. "Fine! You want to run around fucking every Tom, Dick, and Harry? That's just plum dandy with me; Two can play at that game, whore!" Warren shouted, stepping into his khakis and throwing on a white button-up. Without another word, he stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind him.  
  
**  
  
Scott stared out the window of his taxi seat on his way to the office, taking in the bleak, gray day. Five minutes up the road and he would pass the club. It wouldn't be open for another hour, but he always watched it go by just to spot her car and know she's there, getting ready, rehearsing a routine, doing a sound check, sorting schedules, etc. The thought she was even alive got him through the rest of the day.   
  
This time though, as he passed, he didn't see just a couple cars there, he saw dozens- dozens of cop cars with yellow tape tracing the building. Scott immediately had the cab pulled over and got out, rushing to the crime scene.  
  
"Hey pal, where do you think you're going?" Scott stopped when a pudgy policeman held his arm up to halt the young man.  
  
"W...What happened?" Scott breathed, a million horrible scenarios flashing through his mind. Not her, please not her.   
  
He nearly doubled over when he saw a stretcher carried away, white sheet draped over the unmistakable form of a feminine body. "Oh, God." He raised his head up to the storm clouds rolling darkly as they possessed the sky effortlessly. "Please not her." He choked out.  
  
If not God, then someone answered him.  
  
Jean's Benz pulled up into the parking lot, screeching into her reserved space. Scott let out an audible sigh and rushed to her side, finding Ororo coming from the other direction, the fathomless storm clouds roaring in all of their glory.   
  
"What's going on?" Jean asked as she frantically grabbed onto Ororo, the warm wind swirling her and her friend's hair all around, whipping them in the face and head.   
  
Scott tried to suppress his relief at the sight of her. "I don't know. I just got here." The two looked back at Ororo with wide impatient eyes.  
  
It was then they noticed her eyes glazed over with shock. "It's Betsy. She's dead. An overdose."   
  
Jean cried in anguish as her knees suddenly gave way, Scott catching her on her way down. She buried her face in his chest and bawled incoherently, clinging to him like a child.   
  
  
  
AUTHORS  
Okey dokey, who saw THAT one coming? I know, I know, it's a shock, but you will find out why all in due time! But, this also means there is an opening at The Velvet Red! Who do YOU think should take Betsy's spot as the fourth stripper? It's all up to you, people! REVIEW!  
  
Second of all, I know it's kind of sudden with the whole Ororo thing. Kind of feels like I just wrapped up her whole tragedy in a chapter, right? Well, never fear. I've got a plan; there IS a method to my madness!  
  
Third and last, many of you have applauded me for my creative storyline. Strippers? It's crazy! I love it, I love it, I love it!!! I just thought you all might want to know that my idea for this particular story came from a news commercial, after hearing briefly that they were still investigating the murder of a stripper. It was all I ever heard! But it was enough to give birth to this!  
  
Thanks so much for all the positive praise; you guys are great! If you have any ideas at all, or if you think you know what's going to happen, tell me. I'd LOVE to hear it! REVIEW!  



	6. Veteran's Farewell

The Velvet Red   
  
By the end of the night, Jean, Scott, Logan, Ororo, Rogue, and even Remy had gathered at the club while the police wrapped up the investigation. Logan had pulled the chairs from atop a party table on floor for the six to sit at until Warren showed up. He had went to visit a friend in Brooklyn for a few days the day before, and when Jean called him and told him the bad news, he told everyone to stay right there, he was on his way.  
  
The six had been gathered at the club the whole day, some crying, some staying solemnly silent, but all grieving in their own way for their past friend. Rogue sat cuddled against Remy at the bar, the Cajun whispering soothing things in his girlfriend's ear. They had been in somewhat of a fight since the night Remy swung at that kid about a week ago. He revealed to her that sometimes, when he got off early from work, he would come up to the club and standby, making sure nothing was happening that shouldn't. Rogue had been infuriated at first, disgusted at his lack of trust. Remy didn't plead for forgiveness or even yell back, he simply explained to her that it wasn't her he didn't trust, it was the fellows like Bobby. He knew how some men were, and some did not take no for an answer. He almost said, "Ask 'Ro," but thankfully held his tongue. There were certain limits Remy dare not cross with his sassy Mississippian.   
  
All the same, when Rogue came to him with tears in her eyes, Remy had been willing to shed blood. But this time it wasn't that easy- a friend of hers was dead, and it upset Rogue, therefore it upset him, too. Needless to say, their little dispute was wordlessly ended when Remy sacrificed the entire day to stand by and hold her, making sure he was there for anything she needed.  
  
Jean hopped over the bar and fished below the counter, retrieving the necessary items to mix a pina colada, Betsy's favorite. She whipped one up for everybody, and they toasted appropriately to their friend, telling her not to cause too much trouble up there. Jean then crawled back over the counter and resumed her place in Scott's arms.  
  
When she'd first heard the news, Jean hadn't even the strength to walk, and so Scott had supported her in getting into the club. Every once in a while, they exchanged hugs and comforting words, then the periods between touching and consoling grew fewer and fewer until finally, Jean had nestled permanently in Scott's strong, protective embrace, burying her face in his chest and crying occasionally. They clung to each other for support all day.  
  
Scott wished the first time she found a place in his arms could have been under better circumstances, but he knew now was not the time to think of him self. She was probably in so much anguish right now, she couldn't even think, but Scott wished he could hold her against him forever. No, he thought to himself. This is not the time, nor the place. She's married, idiot. Married... Scott banished his selfish thoughts and focused again on the grief permeating the air, not on the feel of Jean's warm body against his.  
  
Jean wished her husband would hurry up. Now more than ever his precious club needed him, and God only knew what he was doing...or who. Warren knew full well Elisabeth had been one of her dearest friends, and yet whom was she gaining love and support from in her time of agony? Scott Summers; this man got better everyday.  
  
Logan did not like this Summers kid one bit. He didn't trust him; hell, he didn't even like him. The subtle and quiet were always the most dangerous. Logan knew he was just trying to get in Jean's pants, and so help him God, if he even touches her, or Ororo, or Rogue, he'll kill him with his bare hands. He radiated a bad vibe, the Canadian decided, a vibe very similar to the one Warren Worthington let off. Jean had assured Logan time and again that everything was fine between her and her husband, but Logan's instincts knew better. Not only did Logan suspect Warren was sleeping around, he even toyed with the idea that the bastard hit her once in a while, too.   
  
Logan sighed. Oh well. He needed proof before he went around beating everybody; he'd just have to be patient. Idly, Logan turned from the scene of Jean and Scott to Rogue and Remy. Now this Remy guy, Logan liked...well, as close as Logan got to liking anybody. He obviously cared a lot about Rogue; it was plain as day. Logan had even been secretly rooting for the swamp rat when he pulled that punch on Drake. Logan had seen the kid grope Rogue, but he decided to take his sweet time getting over there, knowing Remy would settle it better than he would, seeing as how it was his woman being touched. No one ever fights like a man that's fighting for the woman he loves. 'Good,' thought Logan. 'One less problem I have to fuck around with.'  
  
"Oh my God," Warren's voice made everyone jump as he came rushing through the club's entrance, flinging his coat across the back of a chair. He immediately made his way to Jean, who had by now pulled away from Scott's hold, but she knew she'd been too late. No doubt Warren had seen the two cuddling. He didn't seem to mind, though. "I got here as fast as I could," he continued, wrapping his own arms around her waist and tucking her head under his chin. "Are you alright?" he breathed, clutching her tighter. "Jesus, I was so worried."  
  
Jean, a bit confused at his display of concern, nodded dumbfounded against his neck. Warren let out a sigh of relief, "That's good." He extended his right hand behind her back to Scott, offering him to take it. Scott tentatively shook it. Warren's grip was firm and sincere. "Thank you for staying with her." He said simply, and turned to everyone else. "Is everyone okay?"  
  
They nodded, exhausted. "Ah just can't believe it," Rogue choked, fighting back a fresh batch of tears. "Ah mean, Ah just can't believe it."  
  
"Nor can I, my friend." Ororo confirmed, shaking her head despairingly.   
  
Rogue ran a hand through her russet strands, trying to piece it all together as a cop scurried before her with a pad of paper and pen in hand. "Ah mean Ah really don't believe it. Ah can't imagine Betsy committing suicide; it just doesn't add up."  
  
"I know what you mean," Jean added. "She loved life- she was so passionate. She would never throw it all away. It just wasn't like her."  
  
They all nodded silently and prayed to whatever deity they believed in for endurance to cope. After a few moments of good-byes, the group dispersed.  
  
**  
  
At home, Ororo decided to kill the rest of the night contemplating and crying on her window balcony. She closed her eyes as a breeze caressed her sensuous body, rejuvenating her. She had many things on her mind, sorrow for Betsy mainly, but no matter what, she found herself thinking back on Logan more and more often. She and him were very close friends, sharing each other's company often and pillow occasionally. They hadn't had one of their spontaneous 'flings' in weeks now, but that's not to say another one wasn't in store- hence the word spontaneous.   
  
But tonight she mostly sympathized with him. Not exactly pity, she knew Logan wouldn't want anyone's pity, but she could only imagine what he must be going through with all of this. Logan made it clear he cared very much for each and every one of the women. Now one was dead, and there was no one he could go and mangle for it, because it was by her own hand. Ororo sighed inwardly, swallowing back tears. For a fleeting moment, the African beauty wondered if Logan had ever had more than just protective feelings for Betsy, or if she for him, or if they secretly had been carrying something on. No, Ororo scolded her self. This is far from an appropriate time to delve into personal opinions and gossip. How could she disrespect one of her best friends like that? Well, it wouldn't necessarily be disrespectful if it were true, right?  
  
**  
  
  
Jean sat up in bed thinking deeply about a man, and for the first time in a long time, this man wasn't Scott Summers, it was her very own Worthington. The two had been almost silent on the ride home. He fiddled nervously with anything he could get his hands on, first his car keys, then the mail, then his own blond locks.   
  
From their bed she heard him rinse the sink out after brushing his teeth and open the bathroom door into the bedroom. He took a seat next to her on the bed, on top of the sheets, one leg folded beside him, the other swinging down on the bed. She clutched and let go of the comforter her legs were nestled under, just barely standing the silence. Finally, she turned to face Warren and started to talk, but he had done so at the exact same time. They chuckled nervously for a second.  
  
"Go ahead," he prompted. She shook her head.  
  
"No, you."  
  
He nodded and swallowed hard, staring intently at her face as if he were trying to memorize every pretty feature. Finally, he choked out, "Jean, I...I was so afraid you had been hurt." His voice was raw with thick emotion. "I mean, they...they called me and told me there had been a death... a suicide. Something inside of me just fell. I died, Jean. I was so afraid I had lost you." In one swift motion, he clasped her hand against the left of his chest. "I swear, love, my hear broke. And then, when I saw you, like magic, I was a whole man again." Tears had formed in his eyes and Jean was suppressing a few of her own, too. He looked down, a bit ashamed. "I know it must sound...corny, but that's when I realized that I really would go crazy if I ever lost you. I need you."  
  
Jean lost her self in his endless eyes. They were begging her, begging her to forgive, forgive for everything. Jean cupped his face and brought it very close to her own, bringing her self up on her knees. "I love you, Warren." She whispered simply.   
  
They held each other like this for a very long time, just breathing each other in, and crying with each other. Finally, Warren decided they should get to sleep, and Jean consented. She was consumed with joyous shock. He didn't persuade her or threaten her to make love or go down on him as a 'returning favor', even after such an intimate moment. He simply suggested they sleep, and they did, with Jean curling up to him this time. And for the first time in a long time, albeit amidst the sharp pain of Betsy's passing, Jean fell asleep content.   
  
**  
  
Rogue had opted for sleep the moment she walked through her and Remy's apartment door. She was tired as "all hell" and wanted nothing more than to "curl up in bed and sleep for an eternity and three days."   
  
Remy tucked her in and placed a lingering kiss on her forehead for good measure. He pondered feeding his starving stomach, but couldn't bring him self to let her out of his sight. He knew Betsy hadn't committed suicide; he just knew. Cajuns are born with a sense of knowing, thieves are born with a sense of knowing, a Cajun thief, well, you might as well stake your life, and Remy KNEW Betsy did not commit suicide. The problem was, he didn't know who killed her, and that put him on edge, to say the least. He was definitely uncomfortable with Rogue working for a joint where a murderer ran loose. He was going to have to keep close tabs on the place, even after his southern belle made it very clear she was against him, what did she say? "Watching over her like a two year old?"   
  
Oh well, Remy thought. She doesn't like it, too bad. I don't want to be the one getting a call at work telling me the woman I love is lying cold-blooded in a dressing room, bottle of pills in her fist...or in an alley, naked. Remy shuddered and banned the thoughts from his head. No way, he thought firmly. Never.  
  
He stole another glance at her as she stirred slightly in her sleep. He brushed a streak of snow-white from her eyes and kissed her full lips once more. "I love you, chere." He whispered in her ear, and sat back to watch her some more.  
  
**  
  
The sun seeped over the horizon, spilling red and orange over the city. Warren adjusted his tie in front of the mirror before turning to head out the door. Before he left he couldn't help but take time to gaze at his wife. She slept soundly in their bed, her head lolled to one side as her hair scattered onto the pillow in a halo of passionate crimson. As much as he wanted to stay, to touch her velvety skin, to run his fingers through her mane of stunning red, to kiss her cherry pout, he refrained. He would be late, and he had an appointment.  
  
He crossed one leg over the other, balancing his right ankle on his left knee. The chair was cheap, with black plastic upholstery- the kind that made noise when you breathed heavily. Warren despised being in a place like this, but it had to be done, for Betsy.   
  
"So, Mr. Worthington, what can we do for you?" Guy Marks was a regular customer of Warren's. He came down to the club every other Friday, even went so far as to sleep with one of his under-age strippers, which was strictly off limits. Warren couldn't recall her name at the moment, some kid that had come wandering into the place looking for work. Cookie? Whiskers? She had a nice body though, for seventeen, so he gave her a shot, even though he wasn't really crazy about hiring kids, but damn she could move those little hips of hers. Katie? Candy? Especially when she danced. Man did she know how to work her stuff. It was unfortunate Warren had to fire her, because it was obvious with a little more training she could have been as good as Ororo or Jean or Betsy. Kitty! That was it, Kitty Proud. Or something like that.   
  
Warren did remember Guy sleeping with her, though, and therefore ruining her chances of being a permanent Red. He fired her on the spot, reminding her he had warned her when she first started that he was well aware she was only seventeen, and knew it was illegal to hire her, but he was doing her a favor- don't screw it up. But the stupid cunt couldn't keep her legs closed, no matter what she said about pressure or whatever, she could have gotten him arrested. And he wasn't too happy with Guy either, but the man paid well so he let that one slide.   
  
Besides, Warren knew Guy was the head of something NYPD, a head detective honcho guy, or something. His services could prove useful, Warren decided, and he was right.  
  
Which is why he was sitting in Guy Marks' office today. "I'm sure you've heard of what's taken place at my club," Warren began.  
  
"Yeah," Guy sat straighter, "Sorry about that man."  
  
He nodded gravely. "It's certainly a tragedy, but I need a favor."  
  
"Hey, Warren, anything, just say the word."  
  
"Look into this a little more."  
  
Guy crinkled his brows. "What the case? All wrapped up: suicide. Autopsy's results come in later today or tomorrow, but it was petty clean cut."  
  
"That's the thing, Guy. I don't think she committed suicide at all."  
  
The detective nodded, pinching his chin between thumb and forefinger. "And why's that?"  
  
Warren shifted uncomfortably. "Because Guy, Betsy told me something a few nights before her death, something I wasn't supposed to tell anybody."  
  
He shrugged. "What?"  
  
"She said she was pregnant, and her lover wanted her to get rid of the baby, but she did not. She wanted to keep it, Guy. She said it was a one time thing, a stupid mistake, but it left her pregnant and she wanted to keep it."  
  
Guy's eyes got wide. "Warren why didn't you say anything yesterday when we questioned you?"  
  
"Because she didn't want me to tell a soul, not a one, and I thought it disrespectful to even utter the words in front of everyone at the club. I did it for her."  
  
Guy nodded, knowing full well Warren was a man that could be trusted. "Alright, did she tell you who the guy was?"  
  
"Yes, actually, she did." Warren replied quickly.  
  
Guy flipped to a clean page in his notebook. "Go ahead."  
  
"R-E-M-Y L-E-B-E-A-U. Remy Lebeau."  
  
  
  
  
AUTHOR SAYS:  
Dun Dun DUN! EEP!  
Where do YOU think it's headed? And the new stripper will be announced in the next chapter.   



	7. This one's for my BETA reader (and dear ...

"Knock, knock." Jean poked her head around the door to Warren's office.  
  
"Hey gorgeous! Come on in." He put his pen down and scooted back from his desk as she approached him and, to his delightful surprise, promptly took a seat in his lap, lacing her fingers behind his neck.  
  
"Is there something I can do for you, Mrs. Worthington?" He asked playfully, slipping a hand between her knees and slightly under her black skirt. Jean giggled, leaning in to kiss him. He was more than happy to oblige.   
  
It had been three days since Elisabeth's death and Warren had been nothing but love and support to Jean, revealing a side she never knew existed in her husband. She was a hundred percent pleased with the reverse and indulged in every second, even giving him a little in return. He had earned it.  
  
"Are you very busy?" Jean asked, tracing tantalizing patterns on his ear with her tongue as she ran her hands through the fine hairs on the back of his neck.   
  
He shrugged. "Yeah, I'm pretty busy. Why? What do you have in mind?"  
  
She grinned against his earlobe, her left hand trailing down his washboard abs to the zipper on his tailored black pants. Before Warren knew what was happening, she was slithering against him until she was kneeling between his knees. He sat back, shocked. She wasn't going to do what he thought she was going to do was she? Here?   
  
She licked her lips wet and smiled up at him, framing the bulge in his pants with her palms. Warren inhaled deeply, reveling in the feel of bringing a dignified woman like his wife to her knees, literally, in his office, right under his desk. He was winning.  
  
Was, that is, until the door knocked and Jean's fiery head shot up from where she was unzipping his pants and peered toward the door. "Oh my goodness." She turned back to him, "I guess this will have to wait until another time." Warren briefly contemplated reminding her there was room for her UNDER the desk, so she wouldn't be seen, but he decided the wiser and let her go, letting another beautiful woman gain entrance.  
  
Jean scoped her up and down, and the other one did likewise to her as they passed each other. Immediately, tension arose.   
  
Jean left them alone, though, obviously trusting her husband enough now. For which you can guarantee Warren was thankful, because he wanted very much to be alone with this creature. She was tall, slim yet rounded in all the right spots, with straight, fine hair that fell just past her neck. She wore a white skirt-suit, the skirt just short enough to make Warren want to peak, revealing her long, creamy legs.  
  
"Emma." She said simply sitting down, crossing those legs at just such a suggestive pace.  
  
"And I'm Warren" He returned.  
  
"And I'm qualified."  
  
"I'll bet."  
  
"I'll dance."  
  
"I know."  
  
"I'll waitress."  
  
"I'm aware."  
  
A brief pause until she runs her pink tongue over her ivory straight teeth and replies in a throaty purr. "I'll do anything."  
  
Warren too is silent for a second, again sitting back thoughtfully...  
  
**  
  
"Jeannie." Jean turned to see Logan poke his head through the dressing room door. She tied her plum-colored robe around her thin waist and met him at the door.  
  
"What's up, Logan?"   
  
"Looks like your husband doesn't waste any time. He's already found a replacement for Betts."  
  
Jean's eyes got wide. "What? Already! Are you sure?"  
  
He nodded solemnly. "Positive, considering she's at the bar as we speak, waiting to come in."  
  
Jean peaked around his head but couldn't get a view of the bar. "How is she?"  
  
Logan shrugged, nonchalantly averting his eyes from the redhead's cleavage. She caught his attention and the two shared a playful chuckle. "Tease," he mumbled before answering her question. "Does the word bitch mean anything to you?"  
  
She sighed. "Damn."  
  
"It gets better. She's blonde."  
  
"Blonde!?" Things immediately pieced together for Jean. The blonde that had entered Warren's office earlier- it had to be. "Damn," she repeated.  
  
"We haven't had a blonde in the joint since that Dazzle girl." Logan informed.  
  
"Dazzler," Jean corrected, remembering the woman Jean had actually punched in the right eye after she was telling all of the men that Jean had AIDS. She shook her head. "I don't have good luck with blondes."  
  
He grinned. "You'll have even worse with this one. The name's Emma. I am holier than thou might as well be written across her pretty li'l forehead."  
  
Jean closed her eyes or a moment and reopened them. "Send her on in," she said reluctantly, leaving the dressing room door ajar and walking back to her table. She glanced once more at Betsy's vacant vanity, suppressing the urge to cry all over again.  
  
Rogue looked back at Jean in her mirror from where she applied silver eyeliner. "What's the wrong, sugah?"   
  
Jean turned in her seat, but before she could say anything, the sleek, slender woman stepped confidently through the door.   
  
"Rogue, meet Emma, our new replacement." Rogue turned to Emma, stunned. Jean continued. "Emma, this is Rogue, our resident Southern belle, also new to the party."  
  
Rogue extended her right hand for a polite handshake; Emma simply pretended not to see it and placed her vanity case on Betsy's table. Rogue clenched her fist, contemplated sticking Emma on her nose, but thought better of it and just exchanged a look of disgust with Jean.  
  
Jean gave Emma a quick run-through of the way things were done, threw Emma her waitress uniform, and left her to fend for her self, opting instead to chat with Rogue about she and Remy's fast-approaching anniversary. Around eight, Ororo stepped through the doors, her look of surprise almost instantly recovered upon noticing Betsy's old dressing table no longer empty.   
  
Jean introduced Emma and Ororo, and again there was tension. Both women were dignified, sophisticated, sleek. There would not be room for both of them in this club. The two beautiful women simply exchanged nods and went back to preparing for the night.  
  
Logan peeked through the door once again, this time with the club's black portable phone in his right hand. "Dixie, phone." He said simply.  
  
"Hello?" Rogue asked into the receiver, giggling at a comment Jean made about Remy not being able to get enough. Her smile faded instantly. "Oh mah Gawd!"  
  
Jean and Ororo shot up from their seats, coming close. "What? What is it?"  
  
She plugged her other ear in an attempt to hear the person on the other line better. "Alraght, alraght. Ah'll be raght there."  
  
She pressed flash and tossed the phone on the loveseat, frantically scurrying around the room to get dressed. "It's Remy," she said quickly. "He's at the police station!"  
  
"Goddess, is he alright?" Ororo helped her find her other leather sandal.  
  
"No, he's been taken into custody!"  
  
"What!?" Jean and Ororo gasped.  
  
**  
  
  
"For the murder of Elisabeth Braddock." The trim officer read from his notepad.   
  
"That's impossible," Jean protested, taking a seat at the questioning table next to Ororo. Rogue sat across from them, comforting Remy's near shocked state.   
  
"I never touched dat girl." He said, rising furiously. Rogue pulled him back down, murmuring for him to stay calm, this was all just a big mistake.  
  
"How can we believe a word he says?" Warren entered, followed by Guy Marks who was holding a manilla folder.   
  
"Warren...?" Jean began, confused at his sudden accusing words. "What's going on? Do you know?"  
  
He wrapped a protective arm around her shoulder. "Indeed I do, love. It seems Mr. LeBeau here has more of a past than any of us know."  
  
Remy stood slowly, daring him to go any further, then lost strength in his body and slumped back into his chair. Rogue put a hand to his cheek and he turned to look into her bewildered eyes. He kept desperate hold of her eyes while Warren continued, ruining Remy's natural life.  
  
Guy opened the folder in his possession and flashed a photo of Remy surrounded by approximately three other guys. It was dark, they were dressed entirely in black, it was obvious they were doing something they shouldn't have been doing, and were unknowingly being photographed in the process. Before anyone, including Remy, could say a word, Warren spoke.   
  
"Remy is apparently a renowned thief in these parts of New York: Brooklyn, Manhattan, upstate."  
  
There was a pause. "You forgot Long Island," Remy spat, turning from Rogue's eyes.   
  
She gasped, knowing not what to do. "Is... Is this true Remy?" She sputtered.  
  
He nodded slowly, "Is true, chere." He turned on Warren. "But it was a long time ago! I haven't been in dat business since forever!"  
  
"Eight months is hardly forever, Remy."   
  
Remy narrowed his eyes at Warren. "Do you know somet'ing I don't?"   
  
Guy opened his mouth to reveal Warren's previous testimony, but Warren stopped him short. "Let's just say these cops aren't as stupid as you think."  
  
Guy jumped in. " According to her autopsy results, an embryo was found in the Ms. Elisabeth Braddock's abdomen at 9:07 p.m. last night. Fetus was not in the stages of development to make a blood test accessible." He stopped and the information sank into the group.  
  
"I'm telling you, I never touched dat girl!"  
  
Guy sighed. "I'm sorry Mr. LeBeau but we're going to have to hold you here until we can find something." He paused. "I'm going to have to ask you all to leave.   
  
A collective sigh was heard throughout the room and Warren, Ororo, Jean, and Rogue were shooed out.  
  
"Wait." Remy called after them. He seized Rogue's hands and held them to his face, peering almost frantically into her eyes. He could handle whatever came to him, but he wanted Rogue to have nothing to do with it. "Please forgive me, chere, and I don't' care if you hate me, but I did not do dis. But someone did, and dat's why I'm afraid for you. I want you to be safe, Rogue."  
  
"Remy," she began, knowing what was coming.  
  
"No. Please, please stay wit' someone until dis is all sorted out. I don't want you alone." He kissed her cheek and whispered into her ear. "Remy would be not'ing anymore if de Lord took you away from me." She briefly melted against him but stopped her self, unsure to trust or despise. He looked past her shoulder to Ororo. "Ororo please, please chere take her home. Let her stay wit' you. You two can protect each ot'er." Ororo nodded and led Rogue away.  
  
Before leaving the building, Guy Marks pulled Warren aside. "Warren, we can only hold him for forty-eight hours. If we don't anything to convict him within that time we have to let him go."  
  
Warren nodded. "Alright, that's fine. Just keep looking, Marks- her apartment, the club if you have to, everywhere. She was a good woman; I want to make sure she's done justice."  
  
Guy agreed with a nod of the head, respecting Worthington for his honor, and got back to work.   
  
**  
  
"Ah don't know what the hell to believe, 'Ro. Ah mean, my head feels like it's about to explode!"  
  
Ororo sat down on her carpet next to her friend. "I understand how confusing it must be, Rogue. But let us not forget that we mustn't judge Remy on things he has done in the past. We've all done things we are not proud of."  
  
"But he lied to me for so long! For Gawd's sake, we're LIVING together, and he never mentioned this?" She sighed, frustrated and hurt. "Ah just don't believe this whole mess." She snatched a wine cooler from Ororo's hands and downed a long swallow. "This sucks," she grumbled.  
  
Ororo simply sighed, unsure of how to comfort her friend at such a time. Finally, after a bellowing silence, she reached over and wrapped her arms around Rogue's slim frame. The southerner melted into the embrace, crying into Ororo's shoulder. The two women sat, once again gaining from each other as they sat before the African's roaring fire.  
  
**  
  
Noon the next day found Jean and Emma center stage, Jean teaching a regular routine to the club's newest member: Emma Frost.   
  
"I'm tired," Emma said, perching on the edge of the stage and letting her slender legs swing over the side.   
  
Jean fixed the ponytail that swung behind her. "I know you are, Emma, but if you want to get this down by tonight we're going to have to break a sweat."  
  
Emma smiled tightly. "I know that, thank you."  
  
"I'm just trying to make sure you keep your job, that's all. A lot of men loved Betsy and I know what Warren likes."  
  
Emma turned at this, her pretty features slightly amused. "Oh really? Well I don't think so Little Miss Thinks She's So Perfect Because She's Fucking The Boss. Let me let you in on a little secret, EVERYONE'S fucking the boss," she paused and broke into an innocent smile. "Even me. So why don't you quit worrying about me keeping my job and start focusing on you keeping your husband in his own bed... and out of mine."  
  
Jean bit her tongue before she came back with something that was sure to make even the bouncers watching blush. Instead she approached Emma coolly, stopped in front of her, opened her mouth to reply calmly, and cracked her hand across Emma's creamy cheek with a satisfying WHACK.   
  
The blonde gasped, clutching the side of her face where a blotchy whelp was already forming. She straightened immediately to retaliate, but Jean was already slipping into the dressing room. She contemplated following her, but a slight movement to her right caught her attention. It was Logan, watching her from where he leaned in a corner with a gaze that simply said, "Don't even think about it."   
  
On the other side of the dressing room door, Jean was indeed crying unabashedly in her hands. She had always suspected, but no one had ever had the guts to tell her, so she let her self believe it wasn't true. But it was painfully obvious, and Jean knew it. She knew it all along.  
  
"What happened? What's the matter?"  
  
Scott's voice made her jump form her dressing room table and spin around. Scott had entered from the alley door. He tossed his coat in the general direction of the sofa and swiftly made his way to where she stood. She was so close; he wanted to touch her, to hold her and make her wish she'd never said her vows to Warren Worthington III. He didn't though, for fear that touching her just once would make her shatter or disintegrate, like a pillar of ash or salt.  
  
"Why are you crying?" He asked softly.  
  
"Again." She finished for him, looking up a bit embarrassed.  
  
"I wasn't going to say that."   
  
She shook her head. "No, no, it's true. I'm always sad, aren't I? Just one...sad...mess," she finished. He dared to swipe a scarlet strand from her forehead and rest his palm against her chin and cheek, initiating eye contact. She complied, sighing deeply as if life was suddenly much better.   
  
Her heart thumped wildly inside of her. For one fleeting second, she thought about Warren, the club, the rape, the suicide/murder. And then, there was nothing. There was nothing at all except her, him, and now. Now, now, now. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed him against her lips, forcing his open with her mouth. He was uncertain at first, too stunned to really respond, but tentatively his hands were planted on her hips and his head angled to accommodate their passionate embrace.  
  
Scott's mind was drowning in her. She's married; I don't care. He hurts her- I know it. If she chooses me, who am I to argue? It's a sin. SHE'S a sin! A few sinful thoughts entered Scott's own mind at the feel of her warm body pressing eagerly against his.  
  
Jean broke the kiss quickly but kept her face close to his. She closed her eyes and breathed, "Scott."  
  
"Hmm."  
  
"Take me home." She said.  
  
He stepped back a step. "Oh, um," he coughed nervously, "Of course."   
  
"Scott."   
  
He met her eyes once more. "Yeah?"  
  
"I mean home with you."  
  
His heart skipped a complete beat. "With me?"  
  
She nodded slowly, approaching him. "If that's alright with you."  
  
Scott didn't return with anything, just took her hand and proceeded out the alley door. Logan awaited them outside.  
  
They stopped dead. "Where are you two headed?"   
  
Jean opened her mouth to speak but swallowed the lie before it could be said, choosing honesty. "You know where, Logan."   
  
"Yeah, I suppose I do." He said slowly as he skimmed over Scott and back at Jean. He shook his head. "If he ever found out..."  
  
She closed the gap between them. "He won't. He'll never know, Logan, if none of us tell him." She stopped before adding bitterly, "Besides, we all know you can keep a secret. After all, how long have you been doing it for Warren? I guess it's only right I'm the last to know about my husband's adultery."  
  
Jean," he started, "It wasn't ever like that and you know it."  
  
"Then what was it like, Logan? Please tell me because for God's sake, I am more than tired of playing the fool."  
  
"Sure, I knew, but I didn't want to hurt you, Red. I knew it'd upset you and plus, Warren would trace it back to me and I'd lose my job. How am I supposed to watch over you and 'Ro, and Rogue, and B-" he stopped, "all of you if I don't work here?"  
  
Jean was quiet for a second.   
  
"Please don't tell Warren," Scott suddenly said.  
  
Logan shot a warning glance to the man but surprisingly he didn't shrink under it. "Please," he repeated.  
  
Logan was silent. Jean led Scott away, knowing that meant he would indeed keep quiet about the situation. "Thank you," she whispered before slipping into Scott's passenger seat and driving off. So wrapped up in one another's problems, none of them noticed Emma slinking in the shadows.  
  
**  
  
Rogue closed her apartment door behind her and stopped. Remy had called her and told her to meet him there; the cops had released him. She scanned the living room, but he was nowhere to be found. She proceeded down the hallway and to their bedroom door. A light poured forth from their open bathroom door and she could hear an occasional tinker or cabinet shut from within. Rogue smiled despite her self.  
  
Remy was standing before the sink, tapping the side of his black Gillette against the sink and rinsing it thoroughly before beginning a new stroke on his stubble. He caught a glimpse of Rogue at the doorway and stopped, turned, and lowered the razor again.  
  
"Rogue," he said simply.  
  
"They let you go?" She asked.  
  
He nodded. "They didn't have not'ing to charge me wit', so they had to let me go. Dey're still looking, dough, for evidence to lock me up." He shrugged and turned back to the mirror. "But I'm not worried, because I didn't do it so I have not'ing to be worried for."  
  
"Why didn't yah tell me, Remy?" She said suddenly, not wanting to dance around it any longer.  
  
He wiped the remnants of shaving cream off his face with a white hand towel. "Why? So you could never talk to me again? I wanted to, I really did, for a very long time. But pretty soon you were all I t'ought about and I knew telling you would mean losing you."  
  
She stepped into the bathroom. "But that's no excuse! How much longah were you going to go without telling me? My Gawd, Remy, we live together! We were almost" she stopped her self. 'We were almost about to get married, she added silently. Though the couple had never really discussed it, they both knew and were quite open to the idea of holy matrimony. The thought of being so close but really having such a large, yet invisible barrier between them made Rogue hurt, or want to hurt something else.   
  
Remy fought to control his anger, but instead he scooped Rogue up and planted a fervent kiss on her lips, reveling in her taste of cinnamon and Mississippi stars. He combed his fingers through her long auburn hair, stopping to toy a bit with the electric streak of pure white. He loved her so much it ached, and he wouldn't let his stupid mistakes in the past take her away from him.  
  
She broke it off. "Remy," she started, unconsciously wallowing in the sensations his body next to hers brought forth.   
  
"Shh," he soothed, burying him self in her silky neck. "Just forgive me."  
  
She bit her lip and tipped her head back in indulgence as he pressed her against their bathroom wall with his body, stifling a moan as his hand disappeared up her knee-length skirt. "Ah forgive you, Remy."  
  
He brought his face away from her to look her in the eyes. He almost grew too weak to stand staring into her glittering green eyes. She cupped his face and brought him close again, their lips barely brushing each other's. She leaned forward ever so slightly, allowing her long, chestnut colored eyelashes brush against his cheekbones. "Ah forgive you," she whispered again, transforming the passionate mood into both ardent and intimate, mixing sex with love.  
  
He quickly thanked God for sending such an understanding woman to an undeserving swamp rat like him self before hoisting Rogue up and wrapping her long legs around his waist...   
  
  
  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own them. Yes I do! No, no I don't. I do! NO! I'm sorry. I really, really, really DON'T!  
  
REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW  
  
And finally, I understand this chapter had a lot lacking. I will make it up in the next one. There will be more of EVERYTHING. Expansion is everything in writing and I kinda went through things quick here. Sorry, but things are hectic! In the meantime, Read and Review my latest creation: Italian Pure, available at your nearest FF.N.  



	8. On One Single Knee

The Velvet Red  
  
Scott Summer's eyes fluttered open against a mass of soft hair. For a split-second, he was bewildered. As a certified bachelor, it was not everyday he woke up with long hair brushing against him, but his senses told him immediately to whom he was sharing the morning's glory with. The very, very early morning, that is; Scott glanced over at his red digital clock numbers that flaunted 1:36 a.m. for all they were worth. It was all Scott could do not to roll over and fall back asleep- Lord knows she wore him out- but he couldn't tear away from her.   
  
"Can I move now or aren't you done?" Her voice called over her shoulder back at him. He grinned.  
  
"Done what?"   
  
"Staring at me," she replied, turning completely to snuggle closer against him.  
  
He shrugged innocently. "To be a hundred percent honest, I had more in mind than just staring." His eyes traveled her sheet-clad body and met her amused eyes. She laughed out loud, just because she was happy.   
  
Scott savored the moment like a drop of cool water on a parched throat. He planted a kiss on her lips the intriguing shade of Hungarian Rose to which she eagerly responded, reaching behind him to draw him closer.   
  
The phone rang.  
  
Jean wrenched away, startled. "Omigosh. It's mine." She crawled over him to where her pants had been tossed carelessly to the floor in a moment of frantic passion the night before. The brief memory made Jean's lips curl into a smile before flipping her phone open and speaking. "Hello?" Scott snaked an arm around her waist and began trailing kisses along the side and back of her neck. "Warren!" Jean exclaimed. Scott continued his pursuits down across her shoulders, nibbling every so often for tantalizing good measure. "I know, I know. I'm sorry; I'll be there as soon as I can, it's just that I had to work late at the club for my routine and traffic is hell and I'm coming from Brooklyn." She stopped her self from sighing against Scott's foreplay. She turned slightly to him and shot him a look of warning. He paid no heed. "Why did I have to go all the way to Brooklyn? Oh, um, for the Paradise costumes shipped in from Italy. Yeah, I had to pick them up before Emma's big performance tomorrow night. Uh-huh, yep, I love you, too." Scott nearly cringed at the sound of her uttering those words to another man, let alone a man like Worthington. Sensing his emotions, she turned to give him a slightly sorrowful look. He turned away. He didn't need pity. Jean tilted her head a bit before leaning in and devouring Scott's mouth with a fervent, hungry kiss as her husband said his 'I love you's' on the other side of the phone line. She tore away to say, "Bye," and hung up.  
  
Scott settled back on the bed, stretching over the mattress and arching his back like a cat. Jean idly appreciated the fine ripples where his muscles flexed on his abs and hipbones. She wrapped the white sheet against her nude body a little tighter and hating having to say what they both knew was coming.   
  
"I have to go." She said quietly, looking away in the distance then turning back when he didn't respond. "Scott, I have to go back, now."  
  
He nodded and whispered. "I know."  
  
She confirmed it with another nod. "Yeah. Okay." She rose and noiselessly dressed. As she passed the bed, he caught her arm and pulled her on the bed with him. She broke into a fresh batch of giggles- a sound Scott wished would echo through the walls of his apartment for the rest of his life. As he sat there tickling her and splashing kisses on her face and neck, he imagined what it would be like to live with her by his side as his wife, waking up in the morning just like this but not having to endure watching her dress for another man that waited for her arrival in the home they shared.  
  
His heart ached at the thought. Simple fact: he deserved her more than Warren did. He just knew it.   
  
Jean maneuvered out of his arms and snatched her keys from the foyer table. "Good bye, Scott." She said, looking back at him sprawled on his frumpy bed, the sheets tangled between his muscular calves.   
  
"Good bye, Jean." He said, and she left. Both knew she'd be back.  
  
**  
  
"Tonight's gonna be packed, boys, let's get a move on!" Warren clapped his hands in rhythm as the janitors and other various staff members set down the fine oak chairs and cleaned the Persian carpeting and buried Chardonnays in buckets of crushed ice.   
  
"Ah, you smell that, Logan?" The blonde billionaire turned to his bouncer who had just arrived. "That is the smell of money. I can feel it; they're going to love her."  
  
Logan agreed and went behind the bar to make a stiff drink. He watched Ororo saunter through the club's entrance in a skirt that was undoubtedly illegal anywhere but this place. Warren glanced her over appreciatively, to which she simply ignored, turning instead in greeting to Logan.  
  
"Hello Logan."  
  
"Hey, 'Ro. Looking good, as usual."  
  
She smiled, her white teeth in perfect alignment like tiny ivory soldiers, a stark but bewitching contrast against the mocha of her skin. "Thank you."  
  
He lowered his voice. "Feel free to swing by my place again tonight, if the mood strikes you of course."  
  
"Ah yes- the mood. And I see the mood did not strike you three nights ago when I told YOU to feel free to come over."  
  
He shrugged. "Yeah, I'm really sorry about that, actually."  
  
"And I'm sorry I can not make myself present with you tonight."  
  
Logan let out a sigh. "Ah well, I tried."  
  
"Perhaps this weekend, the mood will strike both of us." And with that, she walked away and into the dressing room, adding a little more swing to her hips than usual for his benefit. Of course, he watched every move they made.  
  
Logan turned back around in his seat, promptly placing his tongue back in his mouth. Sure, Ororo was beautiful, you had to be blind not to see it, but Logan did not love her. Which was peachy dandy because she did not love him, either. They were just there for one another when... the mood struck them.   
  
"Logan," Warren started, a little too friendly for the Canadian's taste as he approached the bar and rested his elbows on it.  
  
"Yeah," he replied, taking a swig of his whiskey and soda and trying to look as disinterested as possible in hopes that Warren might leave.  
  
"I know I can count on you to tell me the truth," that's never good, "so hit me, here. My wife came home late last night. I mean, the club wasn't open, so I know she didn't have to stay until about, what, ten?" He popped a peanut in his mouth and chewed slowly and precisely. "So I'm curious as to why she didn't arrive home until after one last night." Pause. "After one, Logan."  
  
"Yeah, I heard you." He said quickly, downing the rest of his drink to stall time. He knew Warren had already asked Jean where she was last night, and God only knows what she used for an excuse. His only chance was to take a shot in the dark. Logan was pretty confident Lady Luck would be his date tonight. "Yeah, she was here working late on her routine. She was even here when I left; she locked up." It was pushing his chances with all those details, but li'l Lady Luck, the ole' broad, flirted with Logan tonight.   
  
Warren eyed Logan carefully, as if he expected him to flinch under his stare. 'Yeah, right,' Logan thought.   
  
Finally, Warren relented, opting instead to back away from the bar and get on some janitors' case about one thing or another.  
  
**  
  
Fall crept into Manhattan, infesting the leaves with golds and reds and coppers. Rogue had mentioned to Remy one day that though she loved falls and all it's glory, she missed the spring and summer and the various array of beautiful flowers that came with it.   
  
Which explained why Remy LeBeau stood in his apartment, strewing roses and tulips and orchids across their plush carpet and hardwood floors. In addition to these, pearly white balloons attached to curled white ribbons floated through the air and tapped the ceiling of the home the lovers shared. Rogue was due home any minute, and every second that passed by Remy grew more and more anxious. Tonight was the big night.   
  
After tossing the last yellow rosebud on the floor, Remy raced to their room and into the closet, retrieving his old suitcase stashed behind a mountain of unseasoned or unfitting clothes. He placed the brown leather suitcase on the bed and reeled the combination clock until it made a satisfying click and the lid flew open. Remy fumbled through it for a bit. His slender fingers brushed against the velvet and he yanked it out. Remy stared at the little black box and opened it to make sure it was still in there. It was- a two-karat diamond set against a white-gold band sat perched between two folds against the black silk background. It glimmered in flawless perfection. 'So it should.' Remy thought, snapping the box closed and slipping it into his pant pocket. 'For what I paid for the thing, it better shine like the damned sun.'  
  
He heard the front door open and he slammed the suitcase shut and hurled it into the closet, flinging the doors closed behind him.   
  
"Remy! Ah'm home." Rogue called from the foyer as she shrugged her brown leather coat off of her shoulders. Her jaw plummeted, nearly making hard contact with the floor at the sight before her. She tiptoed across the beautiful roses in full bloom and let a finger twirl around the tip of a dangling balloon string. "Oh mah," she exclaimed, tears welling up in her big eyes. "This is wonderful, Remy."   
  
He appeared in their bedroom doorway, stunning grin spread across his face at her happiness. "You like, it, chere?"   
  
"It's so..." she turned to him again and bit her lip. "Yah're amazing, boy." She came to where he stood and pressed her round mouth against his. "Ah love you."  
  
He held her elbows and touched his forehead with her own. "I was about to say the same t'ing, but I've got somet'in else to tell you, Rogue, because I love you so much." He paused, entranced with her eyes. "I love you so much." He repeated, bracing himself to get down on one knee.  
  
The front door flung open and a blur of blue whizzed by the couple. They were police uniforms, and cops were surrounding them.  
  
"Remy LeBeau, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you in the court of law. If you choose to..."  
  
As the officer's voice droned on, Remy looked frantically from one officer to another, all of them ready to pounce on him if any sudden movements were made. But they were made invisible to him from the look on his hopefully-soon-to-be fiancée's face. Her deep green eyes begged him for answers. What could he say? They handcuffed him and led him out of his own home. Rogue, after recovering from the shock, could be heard crying after him.   
  
Guy Marks watched as the Cajun thief was piled into the backseat of the squad car. He smiled in proud satisfaction. Yep, thanks to him and his hard detective work, and a little help from his team, they uncovered the photos that would keep this kid locked up forever, it would be clear sailing from here, and then maybe Warren would let him in his place for free. Who knows? Miracles happen. Oh yes, thanks to him, his team, and a small little stack of photographs.   
  
  
  
AUTHORS NOTES  
  
Okay, lil bit of info for the lovely folks out there throwing in a review every once in a while. Bless you!  
  
Nope, no way, it will NOT be a Lo/Ro romance. I don't swing into that at all! But I don't think there's any harm in getting a little action from another single, good-looking person either.  
  
And just wait, the plot thickens soon. C'mon, you don't think Warren's going to be playing the fool forever, do you?   



	9. Guilty Hands

Warren slumped against the bar and watched as his new employee swayed her hips on the stage, teasing her invisible audience with every simple gesture and playful caress against her skin. Worthington smiled and took another sip from his brandy. Emma was fully aware of him lurking within the shadows of the bar, he was sure of it. Idly, he pondered the last time Jean had put on such a show for him.   
  
When her song came to an end, she paused and met her eyes with his. "What'd you think?" Normally, Warren would have responded with something witty and suave, progressing the sexual undertone that lied between them already. But he wasn't currently in the mood for Emma. He was currently in the mood for a touch of purity and chastity, to roam his mouth around his legal wife's body and feel her own luscious lips roam around him. The other women were simply there to pass the time, but Jean was indeed the owner of the finger he had slipped a diamond around.   
  
He shrugged. "It's getting much better." He took a disinterested sip of his drink. "Keep up the good work."   
  
Emma pursed her pink lips into a thin, irritated line. It was transformed into a seductive smile before Warren even realized what had happened. Lithely, she made her way off the stage and advanced toward Warren with slow, purposeful steps. "Something wrong, Mister Worthington?" She asked in a dulcet, articulated tone. She slid her arms around his neck and began trailing sensual kisses along his jaw and around his lips.   
  
Warren removed her hands and nudged her away in one flippant gesture. Emma raised a kempt, wheat-colored eyebrow in faint bewilderment. She tried again, sliding into his lap this time and making sure to add extra, urgent pressure against his lap with her thighs. He rested his hands on her hips and promptly hoisted her off.   
  
"Back off, woman." He snapped, taking yet another sip.   
  
Emma was taken back by his refusal- a scant occurrence in her case. "What's your problem?" She spat, a little offended by his sudden lack on interest.   
  
Warren rolled his eyes behind his eyelids. "Nothing. I'm just not in the mood."   
  
"Liar. You're always in the mood. You're just not in the mood for me."   
  
He nodded. She gasped and stalked back to the stage to gather her duffel bag. At the door, she tossed over her shoulder. "Maybe I'll go see what Scott Summers is doing, since he seems to be keeping everyone else company these days." And then she stepped through the door.   
  
She hadn't gotten three steps when she felt a hand grasp her from behind and slam her against her Corvette.   
  
"Mmm," she sighed, tipping her head back, "I like it rough, Warren."   
  
"Spill, bitch." He sneered, clutching her shoulders in an iron grasp.   
  
She giggled, "I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about, Warren."   
  
He twisted her flesh a bit, causing her to cry out in something that sounded like both delight and pain. "You sick whore," he muttered. "Now tell me, what the hell did you mean 'Scott Summers?'"   
  
Emma's beautiful caramel-colored eyes widened in mock surprise and glittered with a twisted passion. She responded in a patronizing tone, cooing to him as if he were a little boy. "Aw, you poor baby. You didn't know? I thought everyone knew. I mean, Logan does, I do, and surely THEY know."   
  
"They?" He said tightly.   
  
"Scott and Jeannie of course. I saw him in the dressing room the other night, comforting your wife as she cried about something or other."   
  
His grip tightened and this time she clearly cried in discomfort. "Warren!" She nearly wailed.   
  
"Go on," he annunciated.   
  
"Next thing I knew, they were kissing."   
  
"Kissing?"   
  
"Oh yea, and it gets better. She asks him to take her back to his place and the poor misguided fool agrees. I thought, 'someone stop them!' but I didn't have the guts. Then, thankfully, Logan finds them. I think, 'Great. Saved.' But you know what he does? He lets them go, can you believe it? All she had to do was bat her little eyelashes and he was a goner. Then she slides into Scott's passenger seat," by now Emma saw that Warren was gone, possessed in his imagination of what his wife and Scott were doing at this moment. All the same, Emma encouraged his undoubtedly boiling rage by recounting vivid details of the account. "...crossing her legs toward him and screaming through body language that she needed to be fucked right then and there. Man, I'd never seen Summers drive so fast in my life."   
  
Warren Worthington could hardly breath. He felt as if someone had sucker punched him in the gut and it was all he could do not to double over. Releasing Emma, he hurled himself into his car and slammed the door behind him, leaving her with a smug smile curling on her pretty, frosty features. Speeding through the New York traffic, he whipped out his cell phone and pounded a few digits, waiting impatiently for someone to answer. "Xavier, hey! It's Warren Worthington. Yeah, um, hey, I was just wondering if I could get a favor off of you. Yeah, well, you see, I know a man named Scott Summers works for you; I just need his address if it's not too much trouble."   
  
**   
  
Remy's eyes fluttered open when he heard the sound of nearing footsteps. He dismissed the dismal gray ceiling of his solitary cell and sprung off of the bed. On his feet, he saw his old time friend and partner in crime, Pawn, accompanied by an over-weight security guard. The cop notified them of their five-minute time limit and left the two alone. Remy approached the iron bars and gripped them, leaning his head against the cool metal.   
  
"Man, Remy," Pawn began. "How you holding up, brother?"   
  
"My trial is tomorrow, 9 a.m. sharp. Be dere. If I'm ruled innocent, fine. If guilty, you know what to do."   
  
Pawn nodded. "Where will they take you?"   
  
"The state pen down town. You know de one. Security's not too tight, so it shouldn't be a problem busting me out..." he paused. "Only IF I'm even found guilty, which I shouldn't be if dey have any brains in deir heads."   
  
The conversation was brief, but it never had to be long. Simple as that, and Remy was suddenly grateful again for the loyalty he found in his old accomplices. If he were found guilty tomorrow, he would be in jail for two days tops.   
  
**   
  
Jean knew she shouldn't have come, but her hand had a mind of it's own when it knocked on his apartment door. Her mouth had a mind of its own when he kissed her and she kissed back in desperate wanton. Her daydreams had a mind of their own when they wouldn't leave him alone all day. Her heart had a mind of its own when it pounded against her ribs every time he so much as brushed against her.   
  
Scott accepted her with open arms when he found her at his door. He too could find nothing else to occupy his mind with during the long hours they were separated than impious thoughts of her and him.   
  
He pressed her into a wall with his own body weight as he dumbly shut his front door behind him. He focused his hands back on her: her hips, her breasts, her neck and face. She eagerly responded, jumping into his arms and strapping her thighs around his hips. Her hands ran freely through his hair and pressed his head harder against her, trying to deepen the kiss until she was swallowing his soul.   
  
She wrenched away in a lungful of air and slithered her self down from where she was pinned to his wall. "Wait." He stopped, confused. "Wait."   
  
"What's wrong?" he panted.   
  
She smoothed her hair. "Nothing, I..." She fell back against the wall. "I just want to make sure you know that I'm NOT a slut. I'm not." She repeated and shook her head. "I don't do this kind of thing with every guy I meet. With you, it's not just s..." she trailed off.   
  
Scott's face contorted into a look of utter incomprehension. "What? No, no, I never thought that." He brought his face close to her again. "Never, do you understand? I think..." he stopped himself, but the pressing look in her eyes let him know she needed to hear it, for one reason or another. "I think I'm falling in love with you." He looked away, a bit ashamed. "In love with a married woman. Another man's wife." He added a bit despairingly. What was he getting himself into?   
  
Instead of the tentative, awkward response he was expecting, she leapt again into his arms and showered him with a fresh batch of tantalizing kisses. "Me, too." She breathed.   
  
"How touching." Jean yelped at the sound of Warren's voice at the door, a mere five feet from the scene he was witnessing- his wife and another man making love. Even Warren's heart, behind its tall barricades and thick, icy walls, wrenched at the sight. Two men poured forth from behind him, each grabbing one of Scott's arms and pulling his clinging form away from Jean. She screamed in protest and attempted to follow but Warren held her back in the crook of his arms.   
  
She begged Warren to make them stop, wailing obscenities and finally crumbling to her knees in a plea, but he wouldn't hear of it. She was forced to be made witness to Scott's merciless beating, not an ounce of the men's brutality held back. One would hold while the other beat, then the other hold while his companion drove his fist into her lover's gut, face, or anywhere else they could inflict pain. Finally, neither had to hold because he was too weak to defend himself. Scott simply lay in a boneless heap on the floor while they kicked and clawed and punched and bloodied. When Scott was bordering unconsciousness, Warren held up his hand and the two men stopped immediately. Warren wanted Scott to be coherent when he led Jean away, placing an ardent kiss on her full, stiff mouth and mumbling something about going home and setting her straight, too, loud enough, of course, for his beaten victim to hear.   
  
Before slamming Scott's apartment door behind him, Warren turned. "And if I ever see you back at my club or anywhere near my wife or anyone who even GOES to the club again, I'll strangle you with my bare hands."   
  
**   
  
"And you claim, Mister LeBeau, that you had positively no relation to the victim?" The prosecuting attorney paced the courtroom with his hands crossed behind his back.   
  
"Dat's right." Remy replied.   
  
"Except that she worked with your girlfriend, in the strip bar?"   
  
Remy squirmed. It didn't suit him that this dick was bringing Rogue into this. He glanced at his southern belle sitting in the courtroom seats. She was gazing at the scene with worried eyes, wringing her handkerchief between her slim fingers. "Dat's right." He answered.   
  
Rogue swallowed, darting her eyes from one juror to the next. These twelve people were to decide the fate of the man that held her heart in his palm. She fidgeted as if she were dangling from a 100-foot drop on a one-inch long rope. Next to her, Warren had his arm draped across Jean's frame, holding her as close as he could without her sitting on his lap. 'That's some whelp she's got there,' Rogue thought absently, looking at the small black blotch that covered territory on Jean's right cheekbone. 'Poah thang. Wondah what happened.'   
  
The trial went smoothly for a couple more hours. Long, but smooth. Rogue's heart had stopped pounding so loud to the point where she thought everyone in the courtroom could hear it, and settled down to a moderately fast tempo. That is until right before the last witness was called to the stand. She wasn't sure what, but something told Rogue that all hell was about to storm into the room.   
  
"I'd like to call to the stand my last witness, a Mister Guy Marks." Guy strode into the room, flashed the jury a brief smile, and promptly took his seat on the witness stand. He felt the cool leather of the bible under his palm and uttered the fateful, solemn oath.   
  
"Mister Marks, please state to the court your involvement with this case."   
  
"I'm a Lieutenant of five years for the NYPD, sir. I was assigned to investigate the murder case of Elisabeth Braddock."   
  
"Objection," Remy's lawyer said from beside him. "Case has not been legally determined murder yet."   
  
"Sustained."   
  
Guy continued. "Sorry, I was assigned to investigate the questionable murder/suicide of Elisabeth Braddock."   
  
"And what did the autopsy results find?" His lawyer asked, addressing the question more to the attentive jury.   
  
"That the victim had been pregnant at time of death."   
  
"For how long?"   
  
Marks shrugged. "I'd say two weeks to a month. Hard to tell, really, that early you know?"   
  
"Of course. Go on."   
  
"Well anyways, on a tip, we arrested the defendant, Remy LeBeau. We held him for questioning but we had to let him go on account we couldn't find any prosecuting evidence in the victim's house and/or at the club she was employed at."   
  
"Until now."   
  
"Until now," Marks repeated. A slight stir occurred in the courtroom and Rogue's stomach sank into the pit of her. 'What evidence?' She stole a glance at Remy. Unfortunately, he too had a look of pure shock on his face. 'Oh Gawd. Please Lawd, don't do this.'   
  
"Order!" The judge slammed his mallet against the wood and demanded silence. "Please proceed with your evidence."   
  
The lawyer nodded and retrieved three plastic bags from his brown suitcase. Back turned to the courtroom and jury, he fished out the articles in each bag and pinned them on the white bulletin board standing on a tripod in front of the room. The courtroom gasped. Rogue nearly fainted.   
  
Three crude pictures of Remy and Betsy during various stages of intercourse were displayed, each one with Remy's face clearly shown.   
  
The prosecuting attorney let the shock sink through the audience and nearly smiled with smug satisfaction. "And you found these in the victim's house?"   
  
"That's correct. Hidden under her mattress."   
  
"No further questions, your honor."   
  
Rogue choked out a sob, causing Remy to whip his head around. His lawyer's eyes met him first. "Confess," he mumbled under his breath, and Remy's head continued to spin out of control.   
  
"I..." he began, and the courtroom went silent. "I...I didn't mean to. We'd gotten in a fight, Rogue and I; it was that night I'd found her working at de club for de first time." He weakly gestured behind him to Rogue. "I don't know how, I'd only had one beer at de bar. Den Betsy came in and it was like Bam! I was drunk before I knew it and I don't remember anyt'ing after dat except waking up at three a.m. in her apartment. I told her it was a huge mistake and dat it wasn't right, should have never happened." He paused in his hysterical rantings to slowly and quietly repeat the words. "Should have never happened." His head shot up to the jury. "But I didn't kill her! You hear me, I didn't! I am no killer! She never told me anyt'ing about any baby or abortion or not'ing!" The jury's verdict was made before they even went in to deliberate.   
  
  
  
AUTHOR's NOTES   
Oh boy.   
First and foremost to stormfreak: not like that at all. Storm's a very beautiful woman and a lot of men love her, I'm sure, but I'm just saying Logan will not. Nor will she pine over him. Storm would never do that for any man. She's too dignified and has way too much class.   
  
Second off: Pawn is no one we know. I made him up. I know, I know, I promised myself I wouldn't, but I did.   
  
REVIEW. Just Review!


	10. The END

Logan cradled the receiver in one hand and absently wiped down the bar with the other. "Hello?" 

"Jeannie," he said, stopping his ministrations on the bar. "Warren just left and he told me to tell you he's on his way and to be ready because he feels like going out for dinner tonight." 

"Alright," Jean answered quietly. 

Logan perked at the sullen hint in her usually silver-specked voice. "Somethin' wrong, Red?"

"Who is-" the voice was faint but perfectly audible to Logan's razor-sharp senses and it was coming from somewhere very close to Jean.

Logan pivoted for the same unexplainable reason that people make body gestures when speaking with someone over the phone. "Jean! Is that Summers guy there with you?"

Silence. Logan slammed his palm onto a convenient stool. "Get him out of there! Now! Warren will be there any minute!" 

Jean winced at his restrained tone. "Alright, alright, Logan. I will. I promise, he's leaving right now. Good-Bye Logan," in her sweet voice. 

Able to think of nothing more to say, he slammed the phone down and rushed for the door. Emma stopped him.

"Don't even think about it, Sir."

**

Jean sat curled in a ball in her tank and underwear, her thin white sheet draping over the curve of her shapely thighs and tucked securely under her arms, leaving her milky lily-white shoulders bare. She watched Scott tug his turtleneck over his head, mussing his hair. 

He watched her watch him and almost screamed with ecstasy. He'd come last night to see how things at the trial turned out. He was as shocked as the rest of them had been at Remy's confession, but somehow, in the solemnity of the mood, they'd found themselves in each other's arms, kissing and pawing and prodding and caressing with a famished passion starved for far too long. 

During the blissful afterglow of their lovemaking, she had had a sudden burst of energy that possessed her to stand on the bed and spread her arms wide to announce to the world that the two of them were going to elope and live happy and madly in love until they were dead. Then she'd burst into a fit of giggles and tumbled back onto the moon-bathed mattress, nuzzling her nose against his neck until he could feel her long, ink-black eyelashes fluttering against him like a tiny angel's wings. She inhaled a lungful of air and exhaled slowly, her warm breath brushing his stubble, and mumbled a comment about how she loved the scent of his cologne. What is it? Eternity.

It was then that Scott had nonchalantly breached the subject of the whole happily-ever-after nonsense she had suggested moments earlier. Detecting the masked genuineness in his subtle approach, Jean looked up from where her face was contently wedged between her lover's jaw and collarbone. After a short runaround of dodged questions, she had milked from him that he did indeed wish for her to leave Warren for him, "Immediately," in fact. 

God knew she longed for it, but it seemed impossible. To leave Warren was to nibble through iron bars. But Scott assured her it wouldn't be that way. It was a simple one two three step process and she'd be his forever. Jean felt horrible for being the one not to know all of this. She felt like the blind sheep following wherever she was ushered. It made her feel stupid and inferior but Scott convinced her that it was all Warren's doing. He kept her locked up in his own world like a princess in some dark lord's castle. "I'm your knight in shining armor." Scott said, kissing her round red mouth. 

It was settled: they'd leave first thing the next morning. Scott dressed wordlessly and Jean watched. Soon, she'd rise too and run to the bank to pocket as much money of Warren's as possible without displaying obvious intentions. It wasn't terribly important she get a lot- Scott had earned an impressive savings at Xavier's and had nothing to spend it on except room and board for one person until now. Now it would be two, maybe more. Yes, definitely more... some day. 

The couple shared a brief kiss before Scott pressed the gas of Jean's Benz and they sped off together. Jean couldn't resist the urge to unwrap the silk scarf tied in a loose knot around her petal-soft neck and fling it at the sky, the wind whipping it everywhere before finally settling it on the sidewalk in front of their apartment building. But they were long gone by then, Jean's laughter only faintly heard in the growing distance. 

**

Upon entering his apartment, Warren knew everything was wrong- completely, wholly and indescribably wrong. He stalked to his bedroom and flung open the closet doors. Racks and racks of her button-down silk shirts and modest gray skirts and sexy red dresses and those casual blue slacks and the pastel green sweater ensemble he loved so much were gone. All gone. Blinded by fury or fear, it was too early for even Warren himself to tell, he charged at the drawers like a raging mad man searching for one thing, one scrap of her belongings that would purify his soul but to no avail. Not one piece of her possessions was to be found. Well, almost none. As he stumbled incoherently into his kitchen (his alone now, no one at all to share it with) he noticed a tiny bright white light dancing from the mini-bar like an enchanted fairy. On closer examination, it was seen to be the diamond Warren had slipped around her finger as a naïve young man with dreams the size of his ambition. His trembling fingers picked it up and jammed it onto his pinky with only slight difficulty. 

It was said that Warren Worthington couldn't cry, but he did indeed shed tears for his wife. He knew the last time he'd ever see her was when he kissed her scarlet lips good-bye that morning on the way to he club, and even if he sent out everyone he had there'd be no way he'd ever get her back. Scott Summers had set his beautiful creature free. Damn him. Damn damn damn Scott Summers. 

Mechanically, with all the fluidity of a robot, Warren retrieved a pen and paper from the 'junk drawer' in his kitchen and fixed himself a brandy. He sat these things at his desk then pulled up a chair. He wrote:

Scott Summers,

I'm addressing it to you because even in letters I've penned, I'll never be able to utter another syllable to Her again. Will you capitalize the 'H' when you write of Her like I did? Will you ever love her so much the way I did? 

Yes, I'm a damned bastard but I'm also a bit of a poet and I won't take my secret to the grave, simply for the glory. The whole root of this entire mess: I'm a sick fuck that gets off on the whole rape/ murder thing. No, of course I'd never even considered Jean, but other beautiful women just like her: Kitty, Betsy, probably eventually Emma, and the ultimate conquest, the Munroe whore. Ha! In my final words I can degrade the supreme and goddess bitch Ororo. 

Anyways, I'd had my eye on Betsy for quite some time, but before I committed any murder I needed someone to break my fall. Enter a Mr. Remy LeBeau. A fine fellow, I'm sure, but just too perfect for my purposes. After the little scene he caused in my club with the Drake kid, I did a bit of research on him and what do you know? The old brute's an ex-thief. Bingo. 

Elisabeth surely wasn't cooperative at first when it came to making her drug the Cajun and sleep with him. Poor guy never saw it coming. But she was more than willing after a few minor adjustments in her attitude- namely me threatening Ororo's life had Betsy not done what I required of her.

I was going to leave it as 'Remy kills Betsy after she threatens to confront Rogue about the affair', but I, Scott, am like a son to Lady Luck. We go way back. And the lovely Lady herself provided Elisabeth with an occupied womb. And so, it moved from my original aforementioned excuse to 'Remy kills Betsy after she threatens to have the baby'. (Betsy of course was unaware of her pregnancy since I had the results from the doc's office sent straight to me.) So I moved quickly, catching her in her dressing room and savoring every last moment 'til the triumphant finish when I spill inside of her struggling body. After that, it was her choice between my knife or her swallowing every last speed pill I happened to notice she stashed in her dressing room table drawer. She wisely selected the latter option. Smart girl.

Then it's "Oh no, Betsy's dead!" Boo-hoo, boo-hoo. 

Next thing I know, I'm pulling some strings I happen to have tied in the ole NYPD and my good friend Guy Marks (who is a real sucker for curly brunettes if you ever want to do business with him) is eating up my story about Betsy's confession to me before she died about wanting to keep the baby and all that. I mention LeBeau's name, they do a record check, uh-oh, it's dirty! I go home and make love to my wife and we all live happily ever after.

Fuck you, Summers, for screwing up MY fairy tale. 

I ask you again: Will you ever love Her so much the way I did? You had better. Or else my damned soul will wreak agony on your every individual fiber and nerve. Tell her I love her. No. Don't tell her anything about me.

Very Sincerely,

Warren Worthington III

Warren scrawled his name in a flourish of liquid movements- the last time he'd sign his beloved name. He pulled open the desk drawer, fumbled through it, and retrieved the small revolver they kept in there for safekeeping. No; no 'they.' Just him, now, and his void soul. He grazed the barrel with his temple, just where his blond hair grew from his scalp. Upon pressing the trigger, a multitude of things happened: a splatter of crimson exploded from behind his right eye, staining his perfectly fair features, a gunshot bellowed through the empty silence of the apartment, and Warren dropped dead over his desk, wife's wedding ring still snug on his left pinky.

"Police!" The front door flung open and a herd of cops scurried in and assumed a defensive position, led by Emma Frost, small handgun clutched in her fist and bulky blue jacket with the white letters NYPD printed over the left breast. But they were too late. Warren's blood streamed steadily from his scalp.

**

"Will you marry me, chere?" He was finally able to do it and there he kneeled, black box in hand, diamond smiling from inside it.

Rogue's hand clasped over the perfect "oh" of her mouth. "Yes, Remy. Yes."

Not that he expected any less, but Remy sighed a huge sigh of relief. "T'ank God, Rogue."

It'd been about six months since the end of the whole incident, and the southern couple had wanted to resume their old way of life as soon as possible. After discovering the truth from the letter the police discovered under Warren's corpse, Rogue was hesitant in taking Remy back. Lately it seemed to be nothing but fights and deceit between them. But all was settled when Remy was released from jail and walked right into the apartment they shared, fell on his knees and buried his face in her lap. His broad shoulders heaved with every sob begging for her forgiveness and Rogue lifted his face in her hands and began kissing the tears away faster than they could well. It was the first time she'd seen him cry, and his tears had purified their whole relationship. 

Rogue quit the club, which ended up in Logan's possession. He renamed it the Scarlet Halo. 

Jean and Scott weren't seen again until Remy and Rogue's wedding day. It was a beautiful ceremony and Jean had cried, regretting just a bit that she and Scott couldn't have shared the same experience. But one thought back at their wedding night was all they needed. It was tiny, one witness, cheap, Jean had been wearing her best Versace dress and that was the most expensive thing in the room, but it was magical for the both of them and they'd both been sublimely happy.

AUTHOR: Okay, that's it folks! I'd had another ending for this story, but it was so long and I was sick of glancing at my notes every three seconds to see if this was the direction I had planned to head. So one night, I just sat down in front of the screen and said, "I'm going to finish this." I like this version so much better. Hope you enjoyed it! 

THANK YOU FOR ALLLLL OF YOUR REVIEWS! You guys are too good to me!


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